


don't save me cause i don't need it

by AlasPoorAndy



Category: Bandom, The Who
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drugs, Experimentation, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Friendship, High School, Hurt/Comfort, M/F, M/M, Multi, Oops, POV First Person, Sequel, Sexual Experimentation, Teen Romance, Teenagers, The Who - Freeform, cross-dressing, i'm breaking my own heart here, john entwistle - Freeform, m/m - Freeform, mention of sexual abuse, pete townshend - Freeform, sad gay babies, sorry mrs. townshend i make you seem like an evil old hag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6532816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlasPoorAndy/pseuds/AlasPoorAndy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this comes after "my routine with you" as a continuation of the story. teenaged john and pete start a new kind of friendship. written from john's point of view. four parts.</p><p>[edited on 28/04/2016 for minor corrections and small edits]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a new routine with you

**Author's Note:**

> make sure you read "my routine with you" before this! it's the prequel/first chapter of the story, if you will.
> 
> you guys are in for a bit of an emotional trip
> 
> lowkey this is probably the fic i'm most proud of

I couldn’t explain why, but whenever Pete slept over and I woke up to him snoring loudly beside me, I felt comforted. I knew he was safe because I was with him all night and I needn’t worry. I knew I was safe because he was with me all night, and would have handled any harm that came my way. 

I looked forward to the times he came to me for help, but there were downsides, in hindsight. Pete always grabbed all the blankets and curled on his side, pulling the sheets with him. Whenever I tried to pull the blankets back, there was no extra fabric for me to pull, and one leg always ended up uncovered or something. Also, Pete always curled up in a little ball and took up all the space. Come to think of it, Pete was a pretty shitty bed partner, but maybe I was just tolerant. I never did mind. 

This morning, I heard my mother drawing a bath in the bathroom next to my bedroom at the crack of dawn. I was reminded that we had to get Pete home before either of our mothers left for work. Pete was curled up on his side, with the top of his head digging into the side of my ribcage. Why the hell did he have to sleep so strange?

I patted his head until he was pulled from sleep, cursing me with a groan. “Fuck you. Let me sleep.”

“Shh,” I whispered. “You need to go home and apologize to your mother before she leaves for work. You promised.”

“I don’t remember anything that happened yesterday. You’re probably lying.”

“Well, for starters, you puked in my bathroom and then you kissed me,” I informed him.

“Ew, what the hell?” Pete was properly awake now. “Did I puke and then kiss you directly after?”

“No, luckily that was much later. We shared a passionate moonlight embrace in bed.”

“Shit,” Pete sat up, rubbing at his face. “I’m such a romantic. I’m glad you liked it, though.”

“I didn’t say that!” 

“That’s the first thing that came to your mind when you woke up, no?”

“Because it was weird,” I protested.

“Come back to my warm embrace, my beautiful wife,” Pete leaned in again and made stupid kissing noises. I laughed and pushed his face away. 

“You’re insane,” I pushed at his leg with my foot. “Go home and get your life in order. And let me go back to sleep.”

“Do I have to?” he sighed. He pushed me back, his cold feet intruding my cozy warmth. “I’d much rather stay here.”

“Pete, come on,” I coaxed him. “My mother’s in the bath. You can slip out without anyone knowing. You need to talk to your mother so she lets you back in the house again. You’ll look really mature.”

“I feel like my hangover has two hangovers on top of it,” he pouted.

“That’s what you get for doing drugs and booze and all that terrible stuff!”

“Loyal John, always keeping me in line…” Pete smiled to himself. He reluctantly left the warm bed, pulling off the wool sweater I had let him borrow last night. I watched as he put on yesterday’s shirt over his skinny chest and hips. He put his one remaining shoe back on, then his jacket. He didn’t dare look in the mirror, already feeling shit enough on the inside.

“I’ll see you at school in a few hours, yeah?” I told him, sitting up. He came over and we hugged real quick, my face pressing against his warm chest. He smelled like my soap and my laundry detergent. I liked it.

“Yeah. You owe me a peanut butter sandwich, remember,” he winked. So he did remember what happened! “Thanks again, little one.”

“Oh, piss off,” I grinned. I felt better seeing that he was back to normal, teasing me with that nickname like usual. He loved to remind me I was a foot shorter than him. I watched as he tiptoed out, shutting the door silently behind him to sneak down the stairs and out of my house. I sure hoped his mother was more sympathetic this morning.

Like I promised, I made an extra sandwich for him later that morning. I buttered both pieces of bread and then spread the peanut butter on. This made it taste even creamier, and paired with the soft bread my grandmother made the other day, it was guaranteed to be one hell of a sandwich.

“Hungry, eh?” my grandfather teased as he came into the kitchen, watching me stuff two lunches in my bag. He stood beside me at the counter and started preparing his instant coffee.

“Working in the coalmines all day takes a lot out of you,” I joked back. I always waited for that moment when he cracked a smile and I knew I gained that fatherly approval of his.

I enjoyed the walk to school, letting my mind wander freely so I could focus better when I got to class. I thought a lot about Pete and everything that had become routine between us. I hated all those bad habits of his, but I selfishly enjoyed the way he always came back to me for help. It wasn’t necessarily the fact that I had a power over him. I guess just having someone to comfort felt good. Caring for my friend made me feel secure in return. 

I crossed through the field behind the school building, and I saw Pete hanging out in the parking lot with his other group of friends. I didn’t like those guys at all. They were the ones who kept inviting Pete to weird parties across town and fuelling him with as many pills as he wanted. Plus, they were bad at school and said disrespectful things about women. I admired that Pete didn’t try to fit in with them, he was just a member of their group with his own morals and values, and he just liked their company and the connections they had. 

They were all standing in a space in the parking lot where the other blokes parked their scooters, messing around doing god knows what. Looking closer, I saw their notorious ringleader Hugh trying to light some papers on fire with a box of cheap matches, being egged on by his other goons. Pete leaned back against the wall of the school, elegantly smoking the cigarettes they always gave him for free. Pete always looked superior to them; more refined, more distinguished. It didn’t matter what he wore or where they were, you just knew he was smarter and more mature and more handsome than the rest. 

I didn’t bother trying to say hello, and I passed unnoticed and walked into the building. I saw some other people I was friends with, and we exchanged notes for classes and studied for quizzes before the bell rang.

I went through homeform effortlessly and finally into science class. In our astronomy unit, we were learning about the births and deaths of stars, and how a star would collapse and implode on itself. I looked over at Pete, who, a few rows over, was hunched over his desk, scribbling something furiously into his cheap notebook paper. When you caught him like this, you knew he was miles and miles away in his own mind, so stuck up in his own thoughts that he was naively oblivious to the rest of the world. I wondered what was going on in his head, and what he was creating. I yearned for him to let me in to that part of him sometime. I wondered what would happen when he ran out of ideas, completely exhausted of stories to write and pictures to draw. I wondered if he would keep spiraling into recklessness and ruin himself, teetering on the edge of his own personal supernova.

I didn’t see him again until lunch time. He waited outside the dining hall for me.

“There you are,” he smiled. His contribution was buying us milk cartons from the cafeteria. He handed me a carton of chocolate milk, because he knew it was my favourite, and kept the 2% for himself. I reached into my bag and handed him a sandwich. “John, you’re absolutely brilliant. Where would I be without you?”

“Malnourished, for starters,” I teased. “Wanna grab a seat?”

He gestured behind him. “The other guys already have a table. You can join us if you want.”

I looked to the back of the room where those rough boys sat, putting their muddy combat boots on the table like they owned the damn place. Hugh waved Pete to hurry up and join them. I looked back at Pete. “Uh, actually, I’ll just eat in the library. I have an assignment to catch up on.”

Pete frowned. “Alright, if you say so. Meet me after school and we’ll walk home together, yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah, of course. See you then.”

We went our separate ways. I didn’t like being associated with those kids who spent their lunches in the library because they didn’t have any friends. In my defense, I legitimately had work to do, and I happened to be friendly with the people who also worked in there. When I got to the library, I took a seat at a table with an old friend named Alison, and a guy in our maths class named Thomas. 

Alison looked up from her textbook and smiled at me. “John! How are you?”

I smiled back at her. “I’m quite alright, how are you two?”

Thomas was a bit of a frumpy, awkward kid but he was always very kind, especially to me. He constantly shadowed Alison no matter where they went. I don’t blame him, Alison Wise was easily one of the prettiest girls in our year. She was often overlooked because she didn’t try to be popular, and never had an interest in school dances or parties. But if you took the time to have a proper conversation with her, you’d end up talking for hours and hours and come out smarter than you were before. I had always sort of fancied her, but we went to the same primary school and she knows all the embarrassing things I did as a kid, which is humiliating to think about. 

The three of us put our heads together to finish a particularly hard assignment due the next day. I liked working with them because we all had an accelerated pace and we could crack jokes sometimes and not even lose our footing. Conversations were clean and intellectual, which was a nice change, but I think I preferred the pessimistic, artistic introspection Pete had about things. I think all in all I’m better off with a solid balance of the two.

That afternoon, I stayed behind after my last class to talk to the teacher and ask a few questions. I had lost track of the time and was surprised to find the hallways already mostly empty when I left. I found Pete sitting by my locker, still scribbling in that notebook, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, waiting to be lit. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, mate,” I apologized, opening my locker and getting ready as fast as I could.

Pete shrugged, closing his notebook and standing up. “It’s fine. As long as I get home by four, my mother won’t be angry.”

“A 4 pm curfew? Yikes,” I remarked, putting on my jacket. 

“It’s better than the crucifixion she was otherwise planning for me,” Pete smirked. “You were right, though. I was horribly sober this morning and I told her I needed to focus on school and be mature so I can get a good job and provide for my family, blah blah blah. All the stuff she wants to hear.”

“But it’s true!” I protested.

“Not for me, at least,” he said. “Anyways, I credited you for helping in my journey of sobriety, so now she likes you more than ever. I’m only allowed to hang out with you and your grandparents or I have to be back at home.”

“Gross,” I elbowed him in the ribs as we walked out the back doors of the school. “So you’re saying I actually have to spend more time with you?”

“Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me,” he grinned. He pulled a lighter out of his coat pocket and lit it, then offered me a drag. He knows I always refuse but he’s still trying to wear me down. That day, I decided to try something different, and be a bit more like him. Spontaneous. I took the cigarette and tried to inhale. Somehow I did it wrong and coughed a lung out.

“Easy,” Pete laughed at my pitifulness, patting me on the back. “Try again.”

I took the cigarette from his long, bony fingers. We stopped in the middle of the path and I took a deep pull. He watched as I blew the smoke to the side. I was less elegant than he was, but I still felt pretty damn cool. 

“There you go,” he purred. I gave him back the cigarette and we kept walking.

Pete told me about the stupid shit Hugh and the other boys were up to, and I openly disapproved, which made Pete laugh. I told him about a book Alison lent me, and he cut me off in the middle of my retelling of the synopsis.

“Do you fancy her?” he looked at me carefully out of the side of his eye.

“I dunno,” I said quietly, tugging on the straps of my knapsack. “Sort of. Maybe.”

Pete nudged me. “Go for it, mate.”

“I dunno,” I said again. I didn’t want to talk about her with Pete. For some reason I was worried about what he would think. 

“My mum thinks I’m hiding a girlfriend from her,” Pete told me. “She said stuff like, ‘I don’t know who that tramp is, but you’re not allowed staying round her place anymore’.”

“I like how she automatically assumes you’re seeing a tramp.”

“Right? If she actually knew me, she’d know I prefer classy, expensive prostitutes.”

I snorted. “Obviously. But I thought she knew about the parties and stuff? Why does she assume a girlfriend is in the mix?”

“Because she still doesn’t know whose house I sleep at every time she kicks me out.”

I felt my face go warm. Of course any ordinary bloke would run to his girlfriend if he got kicked out. “You could have told her you were with me, kipping on our couch or something. That would be…normal, yeah?”

Pete ignored that, and instead tossed his finished cigarette carelessly into the grass. I went back and stomped on it a few times before catching up with him again. “I’d rather lead her to believe I’m sleeping alone in the gutters because of her heartlessness.”

We reached my street first. 

“Good luck with your mum, just do a bunch of chores to get on her good side again,” I told him.

“You’re killing me here, John. You know I hate chores,” he pouted dramatically. 

“Ring me later if you want,” I offered. We said a quick goodbye, void of any physical contact when anyone in the neighbourhood could see. I walked to the left down to my house and Pete walked to the right to continue on his route.

The next few weeks usually rolled out like that. We didn’t really spend much time together during school, but walked home together every day. Sometimes Pete came home to our place, and he made stuff up about his mother working late or feeling ill, so my mother took pity on him and let him stay for dinner. I could always tell that he and his mother were fighting whenever he did this, and he dreaded going home. I felt bad for any kid who didn’t feel happy in their own home.

Our after school routine started with raiding the kitchen for snacks until my grandmother told us we’d spoil our dinner. Me and Pete did our homework in the dining room, which meant I did all the writing and Pete dictated, or he joked around with my grandmother and then copied my answers later. I let him because I knew he was even smarter than me, he was just too lazy to copy everything out in his notebook. Plus, he got along strangely well with my grandmother. She liked his boyish charm which I didn’t have, and thought he was really funny and “well read”. 

Later on, we’d go up to my room. Sometimes we’d hang out of my window and carefully smoke, then scramble to get rid of all the evidence. To this day we’ve never been caught. Other times, we’d practice our guitars and try to be like Duane Eddy. Pete ended up just leaving his guitar and amp in my room, because his mother didn’t like him playing it at home anyways. After playing for hours and leaving our fingers calloused and raw, we’d curl up in my bed and share magazines or books until it got late and he had to go home. It was nice spending time with him, and Pete hadn’t been going out and causing any trouble anymore, but I could tell he was sometimes anxious about going home. There was one week when his mother rang our house every night to get my mum to swear Pete was over here and not just lying to her. I think after that, my mum felt really bad for Pete and let him stay over as long as he needed. She started being maternal and affectionate with him, ironing one of his shirts here and there, offering to trim his hair every time she trimmed mine, or making me take extra food for him for lunch. I didn’t hear about stuff like this happening to other friends but I secretly enjoyed having Pete over all the time, especially since my family was so welcoming of him.

Alison was getting friendlier with me, too. She kept asking for help on that maths assignment but we ended up talking the whole time, and she understood the problems so quickly I began to think she didn’t have any questions in the first place. Sometimes when Pete wasn’t over after school, Alison came over. We stayed in the living room and did our homework on the floor, and she politely left before my mother even came home. It was nice but I was always on the nervous side. I didn’t want to say anything stupid around her, or tell her too much about the weird stuff my family did. She didn’t listen to the music I like, but she at least tried to appreciate it. I let her borrow my magazines and records, and she let me borrow her paperback novels and comic books. She was a lot of fun to be around, and like Pete, she always kept me on my toes. 

I think my mum was secretly really happy that her weird, awkward kid finally had an actual best friend, and a girl that might actually fancy him. Every night I went to bed satisfied, and every day I woke up a little bit more confident than before. For the first time in a long time, things were looking up for me.


	2. rebel, rebel

One week at school, everyone was talking about a party that some kid in our year nicknamed Lucky was planning on throwing that weekend. It was advertised as a proper boy-girl party, with dancing and kissing and stuff. It wasn’t going to be anything like the parties that Pete went to, but I still thought it could be fun. Since it was for people from our school only, there was the potential that your crush could be there. I heard a few guys in class talking about how they’d try and make a move on their sweetheart there, or even try and go all the way for the first time with their girlfriends that night. 

For some reason, I felt like this wasn’t something to miss, and I’d regret it if I didn’t go. I mean, I was old enough. I could enjoy proper teenaged things like parties and awkward kissing. I was a good student and I deserved a night of wild adventures and shenanigans. I never snuck out for parties, surely I deserved some freedom. I tried to justify my planned spontaneity to myself every morning on my walk to school.

After school on Thursday, I asked Pete if he would be going to the party tomorrow night.

“Respectfully, I must decline your invitation, good sir,” he said in a mockingly posh voice. Then, less formally, he said, “I have absolutely no interest in playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey with kids who get drunk off of one beer and their palms get all sweaty every time they look at a girl.”

I got defensive. “It’s not gonna be like that. Maybe you’ll find someone there you fancy, and you can have proper fun without ingesting your weight in drugs.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “You just want me to be your wingman for the first ten minutes of the party because you’re too nervous to ask Alison Wise to make out in the bathroom with you before her parents pick her up for her 9 pm curfew.”

“Pete!” I punched him in the arm. “That’s not true. She might not even go. I just thought you and me could go and hang out and have fun.”

“Oh, really?” he asked.

“Yeah, plus I have no idea how to sneak out of the house and I need you to take half the blame if I get caught,” I grinned.

“For fuck’s sakes,” Pete grumbled, but smiled too. “You do understand I would actually be losing street cred for showing my face at a lame party like that, right?”

“No one will notice, mate,” I teased. “Everyone gets drunk off of one beer before their 9pm curfew, right?”

Pete and I developed a game plan for our big heist the next day. I could hardly sleep, I was so excited. Friday at lunch, when I went to the library, I sent Thomas off to wander the bookshelves to look for a book I didn’t actually need.

“So, Alison,” I asked, casually flipping through the pages of my workbook, just like Pete instructed me in his pep talk this morning. “Are you coming tonight?”

She furrowed her eyebrows, and it looked real cute. “Coming to what?”

“Oh, you know,” I sighed nonchalantly. “There’s some get together at Lucky’s tonight, most of our grade will be there. I’m thinking of dropping by for a bit, no big deal.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “You know I don’t usually like parties all that much.”

“Yeah, I heard it’ll probably be lame,” I said quickly.

“But if you’ll be there, it might be worth my while,” she looked up and smiled at me, and I decided that’s exactly why I liked her. 

I shrugged again, trying to keep cool even though my heartbeat was picking up. “So I’ll see you there, then?”

“Maybe,” she teased, twirling her pen around her fingers. I looked at her and she looked and me and I kept looking at her and she kept looking at me and Thomas sat down and gave me my book but I didn’t care for Thomas at this point and I really couldn’t wait to tell Pete.

Friday afternoon dragged by as slow as it possibly could. I hardly kept my focus during the rest of my classes. The last bell at the end of the day hadn’t even finished ringing yet and I was already stuffing my books into my bag and racing out the door. I went to my locker and got ready to leave in seconds flat, but I was stuck waiting around for Pete. I got even more eager listening to people talk about the party at their lockers. Girls planned what they were going to wear, or who they planned on talking to that night. Boys exchanged flirting strategies and begged the older students to buy beer for them. It was the most teenager-y experience I had ever been apart of, one where I finally seemed to be fitting into the cookie cutters of masculine men drinking beer and chasing after feminine girls, just like in the books I read.

And then Pete came along. He had been quiet all day but I hadn’t thought anything of it. He was like that some days where he was just thinking very hard. Usually you could tell by the crease where his eyebrows scrunched together in deep concentration. 

“It’s about time!” I told him, quickly ushering him out the door so we could get home as soon as possible. “You took forever.”

“We have plenty of time. We’re not even leaving the house until your family goes to bed,” Pete told me, his words long drawn out. He took a cigarette out from the carton and lit it. After a while I reached over and plucked it out of his mouth, taking a drag before handing it back. I was getting better at smoking lately.

“Come on, at least look excited,” I elbowed him. “I thought you liked parties!”

“And I thought you were supposed to be keeping me away from parties and drinking,” Pete grinned, breaking his moody look. “Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes gone wild.”

“You’ve become the sensible one, and I’ve become the rebel,” I joked. It felt sorta nice to actually be the rebellious one for once and actually do proper teenaged things.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Pete sighed dramatically. “Did you see if Miss Wise would be joining us this evening?”

“Oh yeah!” I beamed. “I acted all cool and nonchalant like you told me. She said she might come only cause I’ll be there. That sounds pretty solid, right?”

“Score,” Pete smirked. “Good for you, little one.”

I ignored the usual nickname he teased me with cause I was just too happy with how things were going. When we got to my house, my grandparents were out maintaining the front yard. Pete and I enjoyed the main floor to ourselves and got a generous supply of snacks from the pantry. “A real, proper girl likes me! I’m finally doing something right!”

Pete sat down at the dining room table with me, and we pulled out our homework so I could pay my repentance early. This time around, Pete was the one writing quietly. I just ate the whole time.

“You say that as if you’re surprised that you’re likable,” Pete said after a while, giving me a thoughtful look. 

“Oh,“ I paused. “I mean, when you put it that way, I sound kind of lame.”

“You shouldn’t think of yourself so poorly,” he murmured, scribbling into his homework notebook.

“I’ll stop when you stop,” I poked him with my pencil. Pete was notorious for being elegantly self-deprecating. Pete looked up and gave me a small smile, then went back to burying his nose in his notebook.

I peeled a banana and ate it, thoughtfully staring out the window like Pete did sometimes with a cigarette, where he always looked so cool and artsy. I couldn’t stop planning scenarios in my head so I would be prepared no matter what happened tonight with Alison.

The rest of the evening dragged by slowly, but at least I had Pete to entertain me. We even rehearsed to act exhausted after a long day and tell everyone we were going to go to sleep early like innocent children. 

After a nice dinner, the five of us watched telly together. I loved getting cozy with my family and Pete like that. The telly screen gave a nice glow and the sun was setting outside, making everything dim and comfy. My grandparents took the two armchairs by the lamp so my grandmother could see her knitting and my grandfather could fill in his crossword during the commercial break. We always let my mother stretch out on the big couch because she was always tired after work. Pete and I sat on the carpet side by side, leaning back against the couch.

The deal was that if we sat through the evening news, Pete and I could pick what to watch afterwards. That night, the handsome and reliable looking new anchor talked about boring politics and the usual scandals in the United States. There was a segment about a new amendment they were trying to pass in France where homosexuality, alcoholism, and prostitution would be completely illegal. 

“It’s about damn time,” my grandfather muttered. “We should be cracking down on those laws too. Queers and prostitutes are the real social scourge of a beautiful country like ours. We need them out of here.” Alcoholism, though, he never said anything about.

My mother and grandmother agreed with him like they usually did. I looked over at Pete real quick. He liked getting in heated debates about government stuff, especially lighthearted discussions about laws and mandates with my grandfather. He was still awfully quietly, squinting at the screen with a straight face. I meant to ask him later what he thought about it.

To kill some more time after the news ended, Pete and I played our favourite game where we muted the telly and dubbed over the news anchors or commercial actors with our own voices. The goal was to be the funniest, which Pete usually was, or say words close enough to match what the person’s mouth was forming so it looked real, which I could do pretty well.

I dubbed an infomercial with two people trying to advertise a new kitchen mop. One of the catch phrases was “there’s no talent involved!”. Well, ‘talent’ looked like they were saying ‘salad’, so I made the advertisement about the dangers of cleaning your kitchen with vegetables instead of their brand of cleaning products, ending with “get your kitchen sparkling clean, no salad involved!”. At least Pete thought it was funny. He always said he admired my improvisation skills.

After that, Pete dubbed the opening scene of a sitcom. He was really good at impressions and funny voices, which was funnier than what he was actually saying. He gave the big, gruff father a high pitched and feminine voice. The youngest son sounded like an old man, and the mother had a deep brooding masculine voice. It was so silly to the point of being stupid, but my mother and I were laughing so hard, and she even had tears in her eyes. We all decided that Pete won, and I didn’t even mind that he got a congratulatory pat on the head from my mother. He was immensely more talented at this sort of thing than I was, and I was proud of him. 

It was a nice way to end the first part of our night. My mother had wandered off yawning to the kitchen to finish washing the dishes before bed. Pete caught my eye and discreetly tapped his wrist. It was almost time!

We both sprang up, saying goodnight to my grandparents. We followed my mother into the kitchen. I kissed her on the cheek. “Goodnight, mother dearest.”

She turned off the tap. “It’s a Friday night, don’t you boys want to stay up late?”

Pete, my brilliant Pete, stepped right in. “I’m quite exhausted, and I’m most looking forward to relaxing with a book. I borrowed The Canterbury Tales from the library. Have you read much Chaucer, Mrs. Entwistle?”

My mother grinned at Pete, wiping her soapy hands on a dishcloth. “You know, I bought a copy years ago but I never got the chance to finish it. Maybe I should pick it up again this weekend.”

Behind my mother’s back, I gave Pete a thumb’s up as they chatted about their literature briefly. Before we went upstairs, my mother asked, “By the way, are you warm enough in the sleeping bag, Pete? I know sleeping on the floor gets cold sometimes. Let me know if you need another blanket.”

We both stalled for a moment, but Pete nodded enthusiastically. “It’s not too bad, actually. But thank you.”

We walked casually upstairs, stifling our laughter until we got to shut my bedroom door. We were just so giddy with excitement and the pride of casually tricking my family. Pete sat on my bed cross legged with his book bag on his lap. It occurred to me that we both silently agreed that the right side of my bed was his side, and the left was mine. It also struck the idea in me that my mother assumed Pete slept on the floor all those nights he spent at our house. Pete and I have never not shared a bed when we slept over together. I thought it was a normal thing everyone did, not just us. I didn’t see anything wrong with it, because I liked it and it felt natural. I sat on the bed next to Pete, and he opened his book bag. Peering inside, I saw that he brought a few bottles of beer wrapped carefully in his pyjamas so they wouldn’t clank against each other. There were also baggies and other wrappings stuffed in there.

“You’re brilliant!” I exclaimed. 

“We’ll crack those open later. The key is drinking before you leave so you can enjoy more of the party already drunk.”

I hadn’t thought of that. We fell silent for a moment as we heard my mother wash up in the bathroom next to my bedroom. We waited until we heard her go down the hall to her bedroom to sleep.

“Alright, let’s give her a little over an hour to settle down and fall fast asleep,” Pete instructed, marking the time on his watch. “Next, what are you planning on wearing?”

I got up and walked over to my closet. I hadn’t even finished pulling out the starched button up shirt from the hanger when Pete made a gagging noise. “Oh, fuck no. Put it back this instant.”

“What?” I protested. “I want to look nice.”

“You’re trying to get a leg over Alison, not go to your first communion.”

I found a shoe to throw at Pete to get him to stop laughing. “Stop that!”

“What? Are you saying that’s not the goal?”

My cheeks started burning. I busied myself with putting the shirt back on the hanger and going through the rest of my scarce wardrobe. “I’m just…I dunno.” To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about Alison in that way yet. I felt like it would be disrespecting her to think of her sexually. Or maybe having sex with a girl seemed kind of daunting to me.

I think Pete picked up on that as well, because he skipped his opportunity to tease me some more. Instead, he went to my dresser and rifled through all the drawers. I watched as he pulled out a black t-shirt and tossed it at me.

I took one look before recognizing it as the one I kept stuffed at the back of my drawer. “Oh, no, not this one. It’s too small on me.”

“Even better,” Pete said. “Put it on.”

“It’ll look dumb!” I frowned. “Plus, you can see how big my belly is in it.”

“It’s just baby fat, it’s cute,” Pete waved a dismissive hand. “Put it on with those jeans you have with the rip in it.”

I grumbled while I reluctantly pulled off my shirt and tried to fit in the black one. It felt too tight, and looked even worse in the mirror. “Oh god. I look like an idiot!”

“It’s fine!”

“No, I’m going to at least get a cardigan or something,” I tried to cross the room to my closet but Pete grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled me back. 

“No cardigan. You’re not an old man,” Pete instructed me. “Now, turn around.”

I turned to face him. He looked me over, making me squirm.

“It shows off your chest and your arm muscles. It works, seriously,” he reassured me. “The girls love that stuff.”

I could still feel my cheeks go red. “Oh, come on.”

Pete went to my closet to find the aforementioned ripped jeans and tossed them at me. I turned away from him to change, feeling bashful and still too chubby. We both stood side by side in the mirror, and I felt worried that I would be drawing too much attention to myself by dressing so differently. 

“Stop worrying,” Pete put his hands on my shoulders, always reading my mind. “You look fine. Alison will take one look at you and swoon and you’ll fall in love and hold hands all night, or whatever scandalous things you library kids do.”

I elbowed Pete behind me. The idea of going out tonight suddenly seemed overwhelming, even with the whole prospect of Alison falling in love with me. I continued to feel incredibly self-conscious, especially with the way ‘library kids’ seemed synonymous with ‘awkward virgins’. 

Pete left my side and went back to his book bag. He pulled out a beer bottle and an opener, taking the lid off slowly so the pop wouldn’t be too loud. He handed it to me before opening one for himself. “There. Sit back and relax a bit.”

I obeyed, stretching back on my bed and taking my first sip of beer ever. It tasted like shit, but a lot of people said alcohol was supposed to taste bad, so I soldiered through it. I watched Pete dig through his bag and pull out more clothes. Between sips of his own beer, he slowly took off his clothes and changed. I pretended not to watch and he pretended not to notice.

He also dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, and I felt envious that he looked better with his smaller frame. I wanted so badly to be as lanky as him. By the time I was halfway through the terrible beer, I watched as Pete bent over my dresser to look closer in the mirror. I couldn’t make out what he was doing at first, until I leaned forward and saw him smudging a black pencil on his bottom eyelid. 

“Are you putting on makeup?” I laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, all confidence and no shame. “It’s eyeliner.”

“But it’s so…feminine?”

“Yes, and?” he said, working on the other eye. “What’s wrong with that? I thought you liked feminine women.”

“You’re changing the subject,” I said. “Are you sure people won’t…you know, get any wrong ideas?”

“Yeah, because I’m dumb enough to care about what my classmates think about me, obviously,” he looked at me in the mirror. “Plus, it’s punk.”

“Oh, Pete,” I sighed, gazing fondly at my strange, strange friend as he touched up the corners of his eyes. “Why aren’t you like the other boys?”

Pete went quiet, looking at himself in the mirror. “Sometimes I wish I knew. Most times I don’t.”

I shook my head, not wanting to make it a big deal. “Whatever. It is rebellious, so I guess you’re getting the point across. Just don’t forget the red lipstick next time, eh?”

“I won’t,” he said absentmindedly. I thought he was joking at the time so I laughed. He turned back around, offering the pencil to me. I shook my head. He put the eye liner on faintly, so it didn’t seem too obvious unless you looked really carefully. It was subtle, but it made his big blue eyes pop. I thought he looked really handsome. While we continued to kill time, we sat together on the bed and drank more. Pete had a second bottle, and I only made it through half of my second one before giving the rest to Pete. When I was least expecting it, I felt like I was slipping into a warm bath all over, and suddenly it was like my brain had disconnected from my eyes. It took longer for the words Pete was saying to travel back to my brain and make sense. He stopped talking, noticing I wasn’t listening.

“Whoa,” I started giggling. “I feel it, I think.”

Pete smiled. “Atta boy!”

“Is this what being drunk is like, for real?”

“It’s the very start of it, at least. Sometimes you can overdo it and it gets a lot more intense.”

Slowly things started to make more sense about the world. I could finally see how people made dumb decisions when they’re drunk because their brains don’t work at all.

I started to get excited again for the party. Pete let me know when the hour had passed, and we quietly put on our jackets and shoes, even though my movements had become a bit sloppy. Pete stuck his head out my bedroom door, then told me, “I can hear your grandfather snoring already. I think we should be clear.”

I stifled back more excited laughter as we shut off my bedroom light and closed my door. I was feeling warm and fuzzy, too content to worry about the logistics of our plan. I put all my trust in Pete. We tiptoed down the stairs and out the back door because it would be quieter that way. It was already dark out and I felt excited with all the possibilities that the night could hold. Pete held the gate door open for me and we were on our way to Lucky’s house.

I wanted to hurry, but Pete kept telling me it was cooler to be late. We passed a third bottle of beer back and forth on our walk there. I watched every time Pete titled his head back and put the bottle to his lips, his pale neck stretching. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m not doing a single thing.”

“Oh, god,” Pete teased me. “At least try and act cool around Alison, yeah? Don’t try to be funny, either. That never works when you’re drunk.”

“How do I kiss her? Like, I know how, but, like, how?” I asked. “You must have kissed plenty of girls, right, Pete? Do you have any tips?” The only kisses I’ve ever had were quick mouth-on-mouth presses, like the one Pete gave me, even though he probably didn’t mean it as anything more than a friendly one. But kisses like those don’t count as proper kissing, do they?

Pete studied the beer bottle label. “You just kinda…slide your lips around. I dunno. It just makes sense when you actually do it.”

“That doesn’t help at all!” I protested.

“God, I’m not looking forward to teaching you about the birds and the bees after this…”

“Oh, come on,” I said, really feeling drunk at this point. “I know plenty about sex. I was born ready for sex.”

“I doubt it,” Pete elbowed me. “You’re just saying that so you look cool.”

“What, and you’re the expert?” I elbowed him right back. “I bet you’ve had plenty of sex with people at all those wild parties, right, Pete?”

Pete tossed the empty beer bottle over someone’s hedge and into their backyard. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.”

That just made me even more curious. I’d have to wait until he was properly drunk to ask again.

I was a ball of excited jitters by the time we got to the right address. I felt like a proper teenager, finally breaking the rules, even though Pete took every opportunity to say how lame it was. I didn’t mind. I never let his grouchy moods affect me much, especially not now.

“God, there’s not even music playing,” Pete muttered as we got up to the front door, knocking twice. “There should be music blasting so hard you can hear it down the street. This is so vanilla.”

One of Lucky’s friends answered the door, beer in hand. We were always in the same classes as him. He was nice but dumb as a brick. “Enty! Pete! Come on in!”

A nickname! Finally my horrendous last name had a nickname. I was included in a teenaged archetype!

I practically had to drag Pete through the door, but I could already tell this was where I wanted to be. It was warm inside and there were more people than I thought. Even in the inconspicuous dim lighting, I recognized everyone. It was strange seeing all my peers together all at once, and out of our school uniforms was something fun. Most people had a cup of some sort in their hands, and pop music was playing over the loud murmur of people talking from a record player in the living room. People weren’t dancing too much, but rather talking closely. Boys were holding girls and it seemed like everyone was touching. I felt excited at the possibilities of my first real teen party.

“Drinks are in the kitchen,” Lucky’s friend told us before quickly being tugged away by a giggling girl.

Pete was already off to the kitchen a split second later. The double sinks were plugged up and filled with ice, and bottles and cans were stuffed in to chill. Pete handed me a beer and then took one for himself, opening it on the edge of the counter like a damn pro. I tried to do it to, but had to get Pete to help me. I thought he was trying to look cool in front of some girls huddled together in the kitchen with us. They seemed to be sort of like me, trying to get out of their comfort zone even though they seemed rather reserved. I smiled at them, but they were batting their eyelashes at Pete. I didn’t blame them, Pete was more handsome than usual tonight. Pete hardly noticed the looks he was getting as we wandered through the crowded main floor. I was nervous that people would ridicule him for wearing makeup like a girl, but thankfully people seemed to be intrigued at the bold look he was going for. I felt relieved on his behalf and relaxed even more.

There wasn’t much going on, just people settling in. Pete went straight for the crates full of records by the record player, examining every single vinyl.

“This is shit, this is shit, shit, shit…” he declared with a disappointed sigh.

I stopped him at one album. “Wait, that one’s actually pretty good, though.”

“The producers made it too clean cut. There’s no point in trying to make an album if nobody lets you say what you really want to say.”

Some other people came up, genuinely intrigued by Pete’s erratic analysis of each song on each album. I sat on the floor next to him and we all listened to him rant. By now, his speech was slurring together and he used more flagrant hand gestures, which made everyone laugh. I could tell he was properly getting drunk now too.

“Oh, god. This album was just a damn farce. All the songs were cheap and overdone, like an old prostitute,” he groaned.

“But Pete, didn’t the single make it to the top of the charts?” one of his followers, a pretty girl named Emily challenged.

“Because people don’t like to think! We reject everyone and everything that challenges the way we act and makes us think about ourselves beyond the surface layer. We only like to consume things that are fast and easy made by people who look pretty on the cover,” Pete looked at the shining, smiling faces of the band printed on the album cover. “Someone give me a light. I’m going to burn this scourge to humanity.” Everyone laughed. “No, I’m serious.”

Everyone liked Pete’s angsty rants. But we believed every critique he made, because it actually made sense. Even when drunk, he knew so much about music and had a legitimate opinion on everything under the sun, and I adored him for it.

Later, there was some commotion in the kitchen, so we abandoned the records and went to go see. Some bloke named Rory was trying to organize a game of spin the bottle. They wanted more boys to join and balance it out, so they asked me and Pete and some other guys to join.

“I didn’t know we were back in primary school,” Pete whispered to me as he rolled his eyes. He got another beer from the sink and we all sat down on the linoleum floor, away from the loud chatter in the other rooms.

Pete leaned into me, our shoulders brushing. “Did you see Alison yet?”

“No, I’ve looked every time someone comes through the door but there’s no sign of her yet,” I frowned, stealing Pete’s bottle from him and taking a swig myself.

“Easy now,” Pete took it back. “That’s a shame. I hope she drops by so you can penetrate her later.”

“Fuck off,” I laughed, and Pete laughed too. I felt like a proper boy, drinking beer and joking about sex with my mates. 

The rules were explained by the most drunken one in the circle. I skimmed over the faces of all the girls. They looked nervous but excited, coy but inviting. Most of them were average looking, because the real stunners in our year already had people to kiss exclusively. I didn’t mind the other girls though, who dressed nice to try and get lucky like I was. I wonder if they thought I looked good, or if they had secret crushes on me.

I was nervous every time the empty beer bottle went spinning. I was trying to plan how I would approach a potential kiss and look casual about it. I also prayed that Alison wouldn’t walk in right when I was going to kiss another girl and get the wrong idea!

Rory got to kiss Marjorie, and Ben got to kiss Emily, and Sophie landed in between Simon and Mark so she chose Simon which made Mark angry, probably because I noticed he was talking to her the whole week leading up to the party. I was surprised and excited for my friend when the bottle rolled to a stop, pointing at Pete. He had to kiss Emily, who was now blushing furiously across the circle. She seemed quite happy, and the way her best friend nudged her made me think Emily fancied Pete. 

Pete handed me his beer bottle to hold for him, and he boldly crawled to the halfway point in the circle, and shy little Emily met him in the middle. I watched as Pete gently placed a hand on the side of her face and kissed her sweetly for one second two seconds three seconds before breaking apart like a tease. Someone whistled. There was something about the intimacy of the way he held her that made me stir inside for some reason.

Everyone seemed impressed at his lack of awkward shyness, and Pete just grinned in spite of himself before snatching his beer back from me. The bottle kept spinning.

It was close to hitting me a few times, but I swear the floor must have been uneven or something. Pete and Ben, who sat next to each other and were the most good-looking, kept getting landed on. I felt kind of jealous that Pete ended up kissing almost every girl in the circle.

I got a chance to spin, finally. I blamed it on my shaky drunken hands, but my spin was pretty bad. It wound around and around before slowing down towards me again, and rolled to a stop pointing at Pete. There wasn’t even a split second after it landed before everyone burst out laughing as if it was the strangest thing in the goddamn world.

“Oh, god, what awful luck!” Rory howled, wiping a tear from his eye. “Spin again, mate. You don’t have to do any weird fag shit.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to me that this was so taboo, but I guess it must be? Everyone laughed out of pity as though it was a terrible fluke that the bottle landed on Pete.

“Oh, damn, my plans to do weird fag shit were foiled!” Pete joked, making everyone laugh all over again. He refused to look at me. I forced a chuckle out too, the whole situation becoming very awkward for me.

Once everyone settled back down, they let me spin again. The bottle landed on a proper girl this time, someone named Catherine who only looked nice now that I was drunk and my vision went hazy. 

I tried to do exactly what Pete did and look cool while doing it, but I had barely moved when Pete did a loud, over-exaggerated cough. I looked over at him, and then noticed that Alison had just come in, and was standing in the door way. Finally, she was here! I gave her a big grin and stood up quickly, and then discovered how drunk I still was. I abandoned Pete and Catherine and the dumb game and took her out into the hallway so we could talk.

“Alison! You made it!” I smiled and hugged her.

“Yeah, I figured I would come by for a little bit. I wasn’t too keen on coming but I decided to try something new!” she smiled back, and I noticed she was wearing lip gloss, and I wondered what it would feel like against my own lips. She laughed, teasing me. “Geez, you smell like cheap beer!”

“I recently discovered the joys of alcohol,” I said, and she laughed too. We both seemed really nervous but happy and laughed a lot. “Can I take your coat or something?”

She was still bundled up and was holding her purse close to her. She handed me her purse and unbuttoned her coat. “Um, yeah, of course. I feel silly being so dressed up.”

We tossed her coat and purse on an empty chair in the dining room. She was wearing a nice peach sweater and a white skirt and tights. She even had a nice necklace on and her hair looked all smooth and straightened.

“You look really good,” I told her. I didn’t feel so self-conscious tonight thanks to the beer, I guess.

“What?” she asked. “The music’s a bit loud.”

“I said, you look really nice!” I leaned in closer to her ear. She smelled faintly of vanilla.

“Oh thank you!” she said, placing a hand on my arm. “I could say the same for you, wow.”

I had done a good job of ignoring how silly my outfit made me feel, but suddenly with Alison’s approval I felt real good about wearing it out. “Thank you, Pete said I should wear this shirt more often.”

“Pete’s got pretty great taste,” she teased. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked, which was usually something they said in the books I read.

“Erm, do they have pop?” she asked, always such a well behaved girl.

“Uh, let me check,” I smiled and ducked out to go back to the kitchen. The game of spin the bottle had dispersed and people went back to talking in small clusters, with the exception of Sophie and Simon necking against the wall. I went up to Pete who was standing at the sink, comparing the labels of two different drinks.

He looked over at me, surprised to see me back so soon. “Everything going well?”

“Superb,” I couldn’t stop grinning. I plunged into the icy sink and pulled out a can of grape soda. “She thinks I look good!”

“Oh, so you believe her and not me?” he pretended to be insulted. Then, Pete leaned in close to whisper, “Take her upstairs. Say it’s too noisy down here to talk.”

Pete, my brilliant Pete! I nodded and gave him a wink before leaving again to find Alison.

“Hey, it’s a bit noisy down here, don’t you think?” I asked, handing her the ice cold can.

“A bit stuffy, yeah,” she agreed, and opened the tab with her painted nail.

“Let’s go upstairs, it might be a bit less overwhelming,” I offered, my heart pounding.

Alison thought nothing of it, and was probably relieved to escape somewhere where she didn’t feel so out of place. “God, yeah. Let’s get some peace and quiet.”

We elbowed our way across the house and up the stairs. All three bedroom doors were shut and had socks tied around the doorknobs, which I knew meant something significant but I forgot what. We went to the bathroom and shut the door for some privacy. I sat on the long bathroom counter and leaned back against the mirror, and Alison joined me, the sink separating us. 

“Yeah, parties aren’t really my thing,” she admitted with a sheepish laugh. “There’s too many people, it makes me a bit nervous.”

“Don’t worry, you’ve got me!” I grinned, reaching over to pat her arm like she had done to me earlier. “And plus, people like you, you have nothing to worry about.”

She looked away, smiling modestly. “Oh, I’m not very interested in being popular. I just want to make a name for myself and do something neat with my life, you know? And that includes working hard in school.”

“God, you’re so smart and pretty and cool,” I blurted out.

“And you’re drunk, John,” she laughed. 

I covered my face with my hands, feeling embarrassed. “Oh, god. I promised Pete I’d try and act cool around you tonight.”

“Oh, John,” Alison kept laughing, but her face had gone a nice pink, and I could tell she didn’t mind at all. “You’re such a sweetheart.”

“A big, manly sweetheart!” I pretended to flex my non-existent muscles and act all macho, which made Alison giggle even harder. God, this was so great. 

Alison kept chattering about school and life and her friends, and it was hard to keep up when my brain felt warm and hazy like that. Instead I sat back and admired her and the way she looked so serious when she was speaking, or how she tried to use big words so people knew how smart she was, or how she was so open with everything she told me. Her eyes were big and brown and I wondered what she would look like with eyeliner on like Pete had.

“But I guess it’s all very subjective, isn’t it?” she concluded a long story, looking to me for a reaction.

“I mean, yeah,” I agreed, my words coming out lazily.

Alison rolled her eyes and giggled again. “Oh, god. Did you hear a single word I just said?”

“I was focused on your mouth,” I answered truthfully. “The grape soda turned your tongue all purple.”

Alison turned behind her and stuck her tongue out in the mirror. “Well, would you look at that?”

I laughed too. We looked at each other for a bit, and I leaned in, and she leaned in. I did what Pete did, and lovingly placed a hand on her face right down by her jaw. Alison looked at me and I really did see some sort of tenderness there, and my palms got really sweaty and I was nervous, but I tried not to let it show.

“You have beautiful eyes,” she said softly. Our noses were almost brushing, and the moment was so pure that I never wanted to leave that universe where her face was the only thing I could see. I licked my lips quickly, unsure of how to just plunge right in and do it. Instead, Alison grabbed my other hand and squeezed it lovingly, but she gently moved away from me, smiling. “And you’re a sweet boy, John. We should head back downstairs, my parents will be picking me up again shortly.” 

I felt my golden opportunity rush past me like a freight train. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

She tossed her empty soda can in the wastebasket and we slid off the counter. I wanted to ask for a quick goodbye kiss but I didn’t want to be creepy about it either, so I just stood there like a big dumb idiot as she opened the bathroom door again. I followed her back downstairs.

We chatted idly by the kitchen window until she saw her father’s car pull up outside the house. I got her coat for her and walked her to the front door.

“I still don’t like parties, but you made this one worth coming to,” she winked at me. Then, Alison leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before slipping out the front door. And in front of everyone! Everyone saw Alison Wise kiss my cheek! I couldn’t wait to tell Pete.

I walked past everyone as they gave me knowing smiles, happy that it looked like I had gotten a girl. I felt like the coolest guy in town. Pete was sitting on a couch in the living room with two girls curled up beside him, hanging off of every word he was saying. He had one leg crossed elegantly over the other and he was telling a story to a bloke I had only seen around school once or twice. Whatever he was saying, he certainly had the two girls enthralled with him. Maybe they were clinging onto him because he ignored them and only paid attention to the bloke.

I sat on the coffee table across from them, and Pete stopped in the middle of his story. “John! How did it go? Where is she?”

“Things went quite well,” I acted nonchalant and kept things ambiguous. “You were right, there was definitely more privacy upstairs.”

The others looked impressed with what was hiding in the subtext. Pete unwound his arm from around the blonde girl’s shoulder to pat me on the knee. “That’s my boy.”

I waved a dismissive hand, acting like it happened all the time. “She did leave quite early, though. Her father just came and picked her up. She has a lot of important and cool things to do in the morning.”

Pete winked at me, and one of the girls asked, “Ooh, who’s the lucky lady?”

Pete brushed the hair away from her ear and leaned in to murmur, “None other than the magnificent Alison Wise. Only the best for my John.”

The others nodded with approval. People generally liked Alison, which made me feel all the better about her. 

The two girls whispered to each other quickly, and stood up. “We’re going to get more drinks, Pete,” the blonde one said.

“Don’t you dare move!” the brunette playfully warned him.

“I’ll be right here, love,” he gave both of them a charming smile. Once they were gone, the other boy moved in next to Pete, whispering something to him.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Pete murmured back to him. They broke away and Pete looked around for a moment, before finding a magazine and a pen on the smaller coffee table beside him. Pete ripped a corner off of a page and scribbled something on it, before folding it up and handing it to the boy. “Yeah, ring any time you need help with the, erm, homework.”

The boy nodded earnestly. “Yeah, the homework. Definitely.” I watched as the boy clutched the paper tightly, then smiled and left the living room.

“What the hell was that about?” I chuckled and moved to sit next to Pete on the couch. “That guy looked way too eager.”

“Just homework stuff,” Pete reached over to grab his beer, frowning to find the bottle empty. He ditched the bottle and took my hand, pulling me up. “Come on, let’s leave before those two girls come back, I’m absolutely tired of them.”

I protested, but was undermined with a yawn escaping. “But I’m having so much fun!”

“But it’s late, and we need to sneak back in to your house,” Pete reassured me. He wound an arm around my middle, which was good because I still felt like I was losing my balance after sitting for so long. 

The party was starting to wind down, in hindsight. Pete told me it was better to leave just as a party was dying so it wouldn’t get depressing. We got our jackets and walked out, the cold night air shocking me back awake. The neighbourhood was dark and I could barely see Pete’s face, even as he walked right beside me.

We left the neighbourhood and cut across an empty field between blocks of neighbourhoods, which would save us some time. Even though Pete acted collected when he was drunk, he stumbled a bit too, so I wrapped my arm around his waist to steady him. Having him close definitely made the cold air more bearable too. 

“So, what exactly happened?” Pete asked slowly. He lit a cigarette and we passed it back and forth.

“Um,” I giggled sheepishly. “We went to the bathroom and we talked and joked around. It was real nice just getting to talk to her and have all her attention on me, you know?”

Pete bobbed his head. “And…?”

“She, like, held my hand for a few seconds though, which was mind blowing. And she called me a whole bunch of nice names and she thinks I have nice eyes and I’m a sweetheart!”

“Well, I could have told you that,” Pete teased. “And did you kiss her?”

“Uh, not really,” I admitted. “She seemed a little shy, I didn’t want to freak her out. But she did kiss me on the cheek before she left, right by the front door where everyone saw!”

“Oh, brilliant!” Pete grinned. “Next thing you know, you’ll be getting married in a three piece suit and she’ll have a hundred of your babies.”

“Gross!” I laughed, the idea of marriage and babies and sex seemed too adult and far-fetched. “I’m still enjoying my life as a bachelor.”

“Whatever you say, little one.”

“What about you?” I asked. “You kissed so many people tonight, and you had those two girls hanging off of you!”

Pete shrugged, looking away. “Oh, it was no big deal, really.”

“It totally was!” I tried to convince him. “All those girls seemed really interested in you. You didn’t even seem to notice them.”

“Maybe it was just the eyeliner,” Pete winked at me.

I was used to sneaking Pete in on those nights he got kicked out of his house, and now it was my turn to join him. I slowly unlocked the front door with the spare key and we were quiet as usual, already knowing which floorboards creaked and which steps on the stairs made the most noise. Our usual routine was being updated.  
It didn’t seem like anyone had noticed we were gone, and my family was still sound asleep like we left them. Once back inside the safety of my bedroom, I realized just how sleepy me and Pete were. We didn’t turn on the lamp and instead took our clothes off in the dark, changing into our pyjamas quickly. I crawled into bed with Pete, sighing in relief at how comfy and cozy it felt to finally lie down under the covers.

I relaxed on my side, feeling comfortable and drowsy. Pete lay on his back, looking at the ceiling. I moved in close to him until we were touching. He was nice and warm and soft, and I was getting so sleepy. “So, you’ve done it?” I asked.

“Done what?”

“Sex.”

Pete stayed quiet for a moment, as if he were debating on announcing something so grandiose and important. “Yes.”

“What was it like?” I looked up at him, trying to read the expression on his face.

“Which time?”

“You big slag,” I poked him in the side, laughing. I was proud for my friend and also kind of jealous that he was so experienced already, going off into the adult world without me. “Tell me about the first time.”

“It was…nice.”

“Just ‘nice’?”

“We didn’t quite know what we were doing, to be fair. But it was still nice.”

“Were you sober?” I asked.

“That time, yes.”

“Were you two in love?” Pete never talked about being in love or having crushes.

Pete went quiet again. “It was one sided.”

“Oh,” I sensed a strange note in Pete’s voice. “And?”

“And what?”

“Like, how did you do it?”

Pete rolled over on his side. “Goodnight, John.”

“Pete!”

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about. Just find Alison’s vagina and stick yourself in there and that’s all it is.”

“Is that really it?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright, you grouch,” I sighed, smiling. I pressed up behind Pete’s back and put my hand on his hip like I do when he’s tense like this. I didn’t go to sleep until I felt him relax against me, silently forgiving me.


	3. tainted love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who, me? putting my own anxieties on the characters i write? never!

It was every teenager’s dream to have the house to themselves, especially if you had lots of siblings or lived with your grandparents like I did. It was a rare occurrence that I had been dreaming of for years. I just wish it wasn’t under such grim circumstances.

My grandfather had stumbled off the last step on the front porch and landed on his knee on the hard grey bricks. Apparently he shattered the whole bone. Luckily a young mother had been passing by with her baby in a carriage and seen the whole thing. She helped him inside and phoned my mother at work, as my grandmother was out running errands. When I got home from school a few hours later, I walked in on her wrapping his knee tightly with a bandage, and her baby crawling around and drooling on a blanket spread out on our living room floor. 

She was a real pretty lady too, wearing a nice dress where the skirt went just below her knee. She was very kind to us, and her maternal instincts were at their peak. She even called me a young man. While we waited for my mother to come home, I wanted to talk to the young woman as much as I could. I made her tea and offered biscuits and muffins and all the nicest treats we had laying around. I even sat on the floor with her baby and dangled a little toy in front of its fat, shiny face to entertain it. I actually had no clue how to work a baby, but she admired how I seemed like ‘a natural’. I found myself praying for her to be single.

There was a bit of a ruckus as my mother stormed in in an anxious fuss, and my grandmother followed soon after, wailing that her poor husband was broken. The baby started crying, tired and overwhelmed with the commotion. The woman decided to take her leave and I helped her wrap up the baby again and carry the stroller back outside. I invited her to come back any time she wanted. 

All the adults in the house piled into the car and drove my grandfather off to the local doctor, and I was left behind. I was inspired by the woman to be responsible and mature, so I went out front with my grandfather’s toolbox to try and fix the porch step. It had loosened screws on the sides, and split down the middle when he stepped on it. I found some old bricks in the backyard from an unfinished project last summer, and tucked them under the last step until they supported the broken wood. Now when you stepped on it, the bricks held the wood in place. I felt proud that I had done a good job, like a proper working man. As I marched back inside, I imagined if that woman had been my wife, and how in awe she would have been that I was a genius handyman. She’d swoon every time I fixed a leaky faucet. One day I’d have a beautiful wife and a dozen drooling fat babies crawling around and whenever I’d come home from work, there would be a nice warm dinner waiting, made by my nice warm wife.

I didn’t have any of that yet though, not even a girlfriend to play pretend house with. But that’s okay. For tonight, I’d be a smooth, suave bachelor. I reheated some leftovers in the fridge and ate in front of the telly watching whatever programme I wanted. I tried to drink one of my grandfather’s ice cold beers from the fridge, but I couldn’t get the bottle open, so I had a soda instead. When my family still hadn’t come back home, I ignored my homework and played my bass in my underwear as loud as my amp would allow me. I made up songs on the spot and shouted what I thought were beautiful, poetic lyrics to the skies. I pretended I was a real rock star, a bachelor, a sex icon, wanted by everyone. I couldn’t wait to live on my own and do this every day.

The next morning, my mother made me breakfast and told me that they were all driving to the town over to get a special doctor to operate on my grandfather’s knee. They would be leaving that Friday morning and would expect to be back Sunday night so my mother could go back to work.

“So… I’ll be home alone?” I asked casually, not trying to be too eager to put her off. Plans were forming in my head already. I needed to find Pete before class and tell him right away.

My mother sighed. “Will you be okay if we leave you to watch the house? Your grandmother could always stay behind if you needed her to.”

“Grandad needs her support, mum,” I told her, acting very serious and adult. “We can’t possibly separate the two.”

My mother looked very skeptical, like this was the hardest decision she was ever going to have to make. I chewed my beans on toast with the straightest face I could manage.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” my mother told me after a long stretch of silence. “No parties, no guests, no alcohol, and no drugs.”

“Of course, mother dearest.” I planned on telling Pete to bring all those things.

“No having girls over, either. If you have Alison over, she’ll have to go home by dinner time. I’ll phone her parents and tell them, too.”

I hadn’t even thought about Alison. “Oh, absolutely.”

“Would you feel better if you had a friend sleep over? I could ring his parents and explain that I want someone else around in case you’re in danger…”

“Actually,” I said slowly, crafting my lie precisely. “Pete was telling me about how his mum was taking extra shifts at work and was never home anyways. She’d be fine with Pete coming over because he’s always home alone, too.”

My mother smiled. “Oh, good! You two are always so well behaved. You can go back to having your little sleepovers and doing your homework together as usual.” Her smile faded into something different. “He’s such a strange boy, but I like him. I’m glad you’re so nice to him.”

I gave her a big, award winning smile. “He truly is a harmless kid. Always so mature and responsible.”

My mother checked her watch, and then patted me reassuringly on the hand. “Good. I’m glad. I trust you boys will behave. I need your grandparents to get a move on, and you need to leave for school. Run along and tell them goodbye. I’ll leave the hospital phone number and my Joanne’s number on the fridge. We’ll be staying round her place so your grandfather can rest after the surgery.”

I left my dishes behind on the table and leaned over to give my mother a big kiss on the cheek. I stuffed on my shoes and my jacket, hollering a goodbye to my grandparents from the bottom of the stairs. I grabbed my knapsack and practically ran to school to tell Pete the good news. 

Pete and I met halfway at lunch, and we sat on the ground by my locker and shared our lunches. Pete’s smile turned devilish when I told him the news. “So? Are you going to have a party? Or invite Alison over?”

I gave him a funny look. “No, I meant you can stay over all weekend! We’ll have the whole place to ourselves to do whatever we want.”

Pete chewed on the carrot sticks I gave him very slowly, and I could tell her was trying to figure something out. “Just you and me?”

“Just you and me.”

He grabbed the second half of the peanut butter sandwich I kept making him every morning. “Alright. I’ll only stay if you promise we’ll be on our worst behaviour.”

“Scout’s honour,” I said solemnly, before we dissolved into laughter.

“My mother will be more than happy to get rid of me for a few days,” Pete said, as if the real relief was on him. “I’ll go back to my house after school real quick to grab some things, then I’ll come over, yeah?”

You knew you were in for a treat whenever Pete promised he would ‘grab some things’. I think I was even more excited for this weekend than I was for that party.

As usual, the afternoon dragged by slowly. I noticed Pete skipped our last two classes, and Hugh and the other goons were missing too. Instinctively I felt worried for Pete, but he was probably getting more booze from them for our special weekend.

When I got home, it was like a dream come true. There wasn’t a single noise in the house except for the grandfather clock ticking. I raced upstairs and changed out of my school uniform into something comfier, and I tidied up here and there to occupy myself until Pete came. I genuinely enjoyed stomping up and down the stairs as loud as possible, or slamming doors and kitchen drawers as much as I pleased. No one was there to tell me to be quiet and behave, which took an immense weight off of my shoulders. I was like a real bachelor!

I was sitting on the kitchen counter reading the newspaper and eating peanut butter from the jar when Pete let himself in, already an honorary member of the Entwistle clan as he was allowed to know where the spare key was kept. He came in and dumped his knapsack and another bag on the kitchen, and he started helping himself to food as well. 

“I’m so damn excited,” I couldn’t help but reiterate.

“Come on, John. You’re home alone and the worst thing you can say is ‘damn’?” Pete scolded me.

Since hanging out with Pete more this year, I can honestly say he has enriched my vocabulary significantly. I said all the usual words already, but there was of course the one holy grail reserved for the most scathing, salacious situations.

I cleared my throat, and shouted, “CUNT.”

“That’s my boy!” Pete grinned proudly.

Next, we unplugged the record player from the wall in the living room and hauled it upstairs to my bedroom, along with all the boxes of records we had collected. We cleared a space off of my dresser to put the machine, and played all our favourite records over and over and over and over and over again as loud as we could physically make it. 

As a joke, Pete put on one of my mother’s Edith Piaf records to interrupt the solid rock and roll stream we were on. He started dancing around like a posh twit, which made me laugh, and he sang along in an exaggerated French accent and got all the words wrong. In between tracks he shouted, “Vive the Français life! Long live prostitution, fags, and alcoholism!”

He pulled my hand and made me dance like Fred Astaire, which was hysterical because we were both so clumsy and awkward, and Pete still towered over me at this point. We did goofy tangoes and twirls and he even dipped me like in the movies before accidentally dropping me. It was so goddamn funny.

We unplugged the record player after that and plugged in our amps, and practiced our guitars as loud as we wanted. Pete was trying to teach me how to keep rhythm for him to follow on my bass, while carrying the melody and supporting him as he played simultaneously. He always got bossy when it came to music but I could tell he was really trying to make something work.

Next in Pete’s bag of tricks was tossed to me and landed in my lap—a little baggie with a few joints rolled up tightly. I looked up at Pete.

“Oh, fuck yes.”

I took one out and stuck it between my lips like a cigarette. Pete leaned in close to my face, and it took a few tries to get the lighter to light everything.

“There, now breathe all the way in through your lungs, don’t just hold it in your mouth,” Pete instructed. I sucked in viciously, and I hadn’t expect it to burn my throat like that. I wanted to cough but Pete put a hand on my shoulder. “Breathe, breathe, breathe—good, now hold it in for a few seconds, good. Now let it out slowly.”

I coughed and spluttered, my lungs getting back at me for betraying them like that. “Fuck, that’s rough.”

Pete took the joint from my fingers and, as always, elegantly took a drag. He blew the grey smoke out the corner of his mouth and handed it back to me. “Try again.”

I did as I was told, and I think I got more in my lungs this time. It still burned like crazy but at least I knew what to expect. We passed it back and forth a few times, and by my third try I actually felt like I was slowly sinking backwards into a big warm blanket. 

“Oh.”

“Feels good, eh?” Pete patted my knee, and kept smoking the rest of the joint. “I got some mild stuff, the first time is always a bit weird. You should be okay.”

“I’m, like…” I tried not to sound like a pothead but it was proving difficult. “Yeah.”

“Well said, little one,” Pete murmured.

Pete lay back lazily, an arm behind his head and the other hand dangling the joint over the side of my bed. I lay back beside him, feeling my muscles relax in waves. I closed my eyes and let the feelings become stronger. Pete stirred beside me, and I realized he stood up to put another record on. Pete came back and laid down beside me again, finishing the blunt and stubbing it out on my wooden headboard. The music was good and everything felt good, and Pete was warm and soft and I rolled over to nestle myself closer to him, drifting off into a peaceful nap that wasn’t even sleeping, just enjoying. 

Lazily, Pete wrapped an arm around me, absentmindedly stroking my back. I couldn’t imagine how this could get any better. I reached over and placed a hand on his arm, brushing my thumb over a freckle above the inside of his elbow. Maybe it was just the high, but his skin felt so soft under my fingers.

We drifted lazily in and out of drowsy naps and simple conversation. Pete tried to get me to remember this one commercial so he could tell me something about it, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of the advert he was describing. It suddenly became really funny, so I started laughing, and Pete was laughing too. 

I didn’t want to move from my spot ever again. I had my head on Pete’s chest at one point and it was so cozy I wanted to melt in there and be like that forever. But Pete kept nudging me. 

“John, John, I’m starving,” he whispered.

“No,” I grumbled back.

“John, I might die, I’m famished.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

“Come on, love, let’s go downstairs, eh?”

“This is peer pressure,” I complained, but lifted myself off of him anyways. Now that he was free, he stood up slowly, then offered a hand to help me up too. I kept hold of his hand as we carefully made our way downstairs in a stoned daze, bumping into things and giggling like lunatics.

“Fuck,” Pete groaned as he bent over to look in my fridge. “I need something with melted cheese.”

I sat on the tile floor with my head delightfully foggy, watching him. “Have all the goddamn cheese you want. You deserve it.”

“You wanna omelette?” he turned back around to face me, and then started laughing again.

“What?” I asked. “And yeah, I do.”

I felt like I was in a cooking show that was set entirely in slow motion but with the laugh-track of a sitcom. We tried to remember what order all the ingredients came in, and laughed every time we dropped something outside of the bowl. We took turns whisking and chopping and then we heated the stove and the frying pan.

Pete decided he was going to pour the eggs in the frying pan, but I still put my hands over his to help him hold the bowl, just in case.

Then, we raided the fridge again to keep piling ingredients on top of the omelette. We used four different kinds of cheese, ham, bacon, green peppers, and six spices, and Pete was convinced that we should throw a whole pickle in as well to experiment.

It was like frying a whole fridge full of food with some egg in there, and we both attacked the sizzling mess with our own spatulas to try and get it to cook evenly. I remember wandering off to go to the mirror in the front hallway, and I pulled my eyelids open to see if my eyes were all red looking.

“Pete?” I called. “Pete, c’mere.”

Pete came out of the kitchen to find me. “What are you doing with your eyes?”

“Do I have the red eyes? Like the drug users do?” It seemed really important to me at the time.

Pete focused for a very long time, before shaking his head. “No, they look normal. What about me?”

He pulled his eyelids open too, and I got in real close to check. They looked their usual blue, pale and round, but maybe there was red and I just couldn’t see because I was stoned? “I’m not sure, you know?”

“I know,” he reassured me. We forgot what we were doing until we smelled smoke from the kitchen, and then we took off on a mad dash to rescue our egg masterpiece.

We sat on the couch and watched telly while we ate, pressed up side by side. Pete got the half of the omelette with the pickle in it, but we ended up passing that back and forth, too. I ate really slowly but everything tasted so damn good, it was like every ingredient was as tasty as a whole buffet. I almost got overwhelmed with how much beauty there was in the world. How could we fight in wars and banish fags and prostitutes when we could just eat food and be happy? The thought almost made me tear up.

Pete was laughing at something onscreen, and I wasn’t paying attention but I laughed at his laugh anyways, because now he was laughing a dumb, childish laugh and it made me laugh. I wish I could laugh all day and eat food and make music with Pete.

After a couple of reruns on TV, I could feel that nice reassuring feeling slowly start to fade away. It was disappointing that the glorious feeling was over so soon, but every muscle in my body felt relaxed and refreshed. I should consider doing this all the time.

“So, what did you think?” Pete asked me later during the commercial break once we had both sobered up.

“I want to feel that good every day of my life,” I sighed happily. 

“The only things that make you feel that good in this miserable life are drugs, sex, and rock and roll,” Pete philosophized. “That’s why I fill my life with all three.”

“I don’t quite blame you,” I could finally see why Pete did all the reckless stuff he did sometimes. “Two out of three isn’t bad either.”

Pete teased me, pinching my cheek. “One day, little one.”

“I’m ready for it, but not really at the same time, you know?” I said quietly. Pete pulled out a cigarette from the small package he had in his shirt pocket. He lit it, took a drag, and passed it to me.

“Do whatever you want when it feels right,” he told me. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, either. There’s littler things you can do before the big ol’ event, you know?”

“Like…?”

“Oh, simple John,” Pete blew some smoke up to the ceiling. “You’ll figure it out, eventually.”

I frowned. Sometimes I just wish Pete would come right out and say stuff instead of being vague all the time. I snatched the cigarette and smoked the whole thing to piss him off, which it did, but I just leaned into him and kept smoking anyways.

At around 10 pm, my mother called the house and we chatted briefly. She told me the surgery had gone swimmingly, and my grandfather was resting at my mother’s friend’s house and was being well looked after by three worried women.

“Glad to hear he’s doing alright,” I spoke into the receiver, ignoring Pete who was dancing around and trying to make me break face and laugh. “Me and Pete were working on an assignment all night.”

We were tired out from the regular school day, so we eventually drifted back upstairs. We played more records and sat around talking for a bit. I reached over to grab Pete’s knapsack, searching around for any other goodies he brought. There was a silver flask, the baggie of joints, lighters and matches, books and magazines, and at the very bottom of the bag was a small little black tube. Curious, I dug it out to examine it.

“What the hell is this?” I laughed, waving the tube of red lipstick in Pete’s face. 

“Give it back!” Pete tried to snatch it back but I yanked my hand away. 

“A gift for your girlfriend, eh?” I teased. Pete grabbed my wrist and took the lipstick from my hands.

“It’s mine,” he said in that same weird, restrained voice he used the night he wore the eyeliner that one time.

“Oh, yeah, like you actually wear it.”

“I do,” he looked me dead in the eye, and I could tell he wasn’t joking.

“Pete, that’s…” I swallowed quickly, feeling uneasy. “That sorta thing makes you look like a—“

“Exactly,” he told me, tossed it back in the bag, and that was the end of that. But I couldn’t let it go.

I mean, I knew he wore the eyeliner to look punk, but bright red lipstick like that was surely a very feminine thing. Was he doing that on purpose, because he wanted to look like a girl? My first instinct after the judgement was a wave of fascination rolling through me. It was so scandalous I couldn’t help but be intrigued. I reached back into the bag and handed the lipstick to him. I asked quietly, “Try it on, I want to see.”

We went into the bathroom to use the mirror there. Pete brought the eyeliner pencil too. 

“I’ll only put it on if you let me put some on you first,” Pete bargained. Just for fun, I let him.

Putting on the eyeliner was really uncomfortable, and Pete had to get in real close and hold my head still. I couldn’t stop flinching every time the pencil came near my eye. Finally he got me relaxed enough to scrape the pencil along the bottom of my eyelids. Then he instructed me to open my mouth so he could paint my lips red, using his pinky to fix the edges. I sat on the counter, not facing the mirror until Pete was done. I watched him put on the makeup with that intense focus of his, and he looked like a professional. Maybe that’s why the whole thing didn’t seem very weird, because he was always so experienced. Even the way he put the lipstick on himself was fascinating to watch. He did small strokes from the corners of his mouth inwards, dabbing in the middle of his lip, and rubbed his lips together to smear it evenly. 

I knew it was my regular old Pete who just put on colours on his face, but he also somehow looked like a different person—someone more refined, more exquisite and more…womanly, of course. Like a masculine woman. Even with his funny looking face, somehow that classy feminine touch made him look even more beautiful. 

“Stop staring,” Pete interrupted my observations. He looked self-conscious, something I rarely saw him as. 

“Sorry, it’s just…” my sentence trailed off. “You look, you know…”

Pete frowned, so I quickly clarified myself. “I mean you look good. You look like a woman, I was going to say, which is a good thing. I mean, like, it works, you know? Yeah. Ignore me. You look cool.”

Pete’s looked faded into something I couldn’t understand, and with a sly smile he took my hand and pulled me off the counter so I could look in the mirror. I burst into laughter the moment I saw my face, covering it with my hands.

“Oh, god, I look like a clown!” I couldn’t believe my magical transformation was the exact opposite of Pete’s. I had a big red mouth like a clown and I looked like a raccoon with all the black stuff around my eyes.

“Oh, come on,” Pete laughed with me, all the nervous energy wafting away. “I didn’t do that bad of a job, did I?”

I stopped laughing enough so Pete could ease my hands away from my face. He took one peek and said, “Yeah, maybe red isn’t your colour.”

There was the adrenaline of breaking the rules and doing something that wasn’t allowed, and the fact that it looked really good on Pete made me full of a certain kind of excitement. With that excited, nervous giggling, we quickly scrubbed our faces clean with face cloths and removed all the evidence of the naughty thing we had done. We scurried back to my bedroom as if we were going to get caught.

We were getting over tired, so we got into our pyjamas and curled up in bed to read before we went to sleep like we usually did on regular school nights. I was skimming my bookshelf to find something new, and Pete was fluffing the pillows. He stopped to dig something out from between the mattress and the headboard.

“John!” Pete pretended to be shocked. “Doth my eyes deceive me?”

Now it was my turn to blush crimson red. “Pete, put that back! It’s private!”

“I found your dirty little secret, now we’re even!” Pete grinned devilishly as he flicked through the pages of my only pornography magazine, which was SUPPOSED to be kept a secret.

“I read it for the articles!” I wailed, climbing on top of him to try and take it back. This was far more embarrassing than being caught wearing your mother’s makeup. 

“I hear this one got lots of distinguished awards,” Pete mocked, trying to read the title of an erotic story between the pictures. “‘Heather misbehaves during class and gets punished’. Quite the literary gem.” 

“Fuck off,” I laughed, although absolutely mortified. I yanked the magazine back and rolled off of him, stuffing it back between the mattress and the box spring. “It’s the only one I have, and otherwise I am a very classy gentleman.”

“I can’t believe that goody-two-shoes John Entwistle has a nasty porn habit,” Pete pretended to be very solemn, shaking his head sadly. “He should be punished.”

I punched Pete in the stomach, which made him laugh harder at having frustrated me. “Pete! You’re the worst!”

I went back to my bookshelf and got a tattered old science fiction paperback, and got into bed with him, scowling.

Pete pinched my cheek, pouting. “Oh, come on, little one. Would you feel better if you saw mine?”

I looked over at him, more amazed that he would keep a porn collection too. I thought he was going to pull out a dirty novel from his bag but instead he got his wallet from his jeans pocket. He sat cross legged next to me and pulled out two folded papers from the small pocket in his wallet, and tossed them at me.

They were pages ripped from a magazine, well-worn and folded so many times the corners had holes in them. I opened one, which was an advert for women’s wear. A laughing, blonde teenager clutched her laughing brunette friend as they stood on the beach. The picture was more than generous showing off their bikinis for sale, as well as their perfect hourglass bodies, and long, slim legs. They wore red lipstick, too. I could definitely see the appeal, especially when the two girls held each other so close, there was plenty to imagine.

The other was a picture from a photoshoot of a man, probably an actor or someone famous, but I didn’t recognize him. He was stretched out elegantly along a fancy settee, smoking an equally fancy looking cigar. The effortless way he had an arm bent behind his head made him look superior to us looking at him. The white button up he wore was tight across his chest, just like his black trousers were tight across his hips, which left your imagination to run wild. On top of it all, he had that all-American boyish face, with a defined jaw, small nose, nice pink lips, sun-bleached hair from days spent working in the sun, and light green eyes that looked at you with a smoldering gaze. I could definitely see why this caught Pete’s attention.

Just as quickly as he let me see them, Pete took them back, folding the pictures neatly and putting them back in his wallet. I cleared my throat and got under the covers. We came to a silent agreement that those were very nice pictures indeed.

Pete got under the blankets too, and switched on the lamp so we could read for a bit. I tried to focus on the space cowboy adventures in my book but there was a lot running through my mind, and a lot of those thoughts would have to be stored away until the next chance I had some privacy.

I was the first to doze off, and Pete put my book on my nightstand for me, turned off the light, and wrapped an arm around my middle before sleeping too. The house was unusually quiet, and I worried about my mother and grandparents getting home safely, but having Pete nearby reassured me immensely. If anything happened, I reminded myself he would be there to help me.

I was also the last one to wake up. Pete was still in bed next to me, which made me relieved. He was reading the same book from last night, as if he hadn’t slept at all. “Oh, thank god you’re finally awake. I was getting bored.”

I smiled and rubbed my eyes. “Sorry ‘bout that. What time is it?”

“It’s a quarter past twelve on this beautiful Saturday afternoon,” Pete announced, flipping a page in his book.

“Damn,” I did a full body stretch, my t-shirt riding up. “Let’s go eat.”

We lazily rolled out of bed and went back downstairs to fix bowls of cereal, fruits, yogurt, and toast. I got the newspaper from the front step and brought it in so we could share articles back and forth and look intelligent. There was more news on people protesting that French amendment we saw on the news, just as many as there were in favour of it. I feel like Pete would be in favour of a more liberal lifestyle. He did, after all, wear women’s lipstick.

We dumped all our dishes in the sink later. 

“Should we maybe wash these eventually?” Pete asked. “I feel bad for leaving them for your mother.”

I pursed my lips. “What if we had a lazy day today, and washed everything at the last minute so we only have to do it once?”

“That sounds very efficient and therefore very mature,” Pete agreed, and we went back upstairs.

This was by far the most beautiful day for a lazy Saturday. It was sunny and I left my window open to let a sweet breeze roll through. We played records and smoked cigarettes, chatting aimlessly about nothing at all. I felt so content, laying all cozy under the blankets and having no responsibilities whatsoever. Nothing could ruin this weekend.

“If Lucky grew up and ended up in jail, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Pete remarked about the host of the rebellious teen party.

It was so out of the blue that I couldn’t help but laugh. “In jail? For what?”

Pete rolled over and looked at me. “Probably something stupid, like robbing a corner store in the middle of the day and getting caught.”

“Oh, come on. He’s not that bad.”

“I’ve sat next to that kid all year in English. He’s pretty damn stupid.”

“But he’s very kind,” I defended Lucky, mainly for giving Alison the chance to kiss me on the cheek.

“Very kind, yes, but also a bit…off.”

“Okay, yeah, I can see that,” I nodded. “Who else?”

“I feel like Emily will get pregnant the moment we graduate,” Pete said. “Not that she’s a slag, but she seems very maternal. I feel like she’ll want to have six billion kids.”

“I do get that maternal feeling, yeah,” I agreed. It was attractive. “She dresses sensibly like she’s already a mum, you know?”

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

“Who else?”

Pete thought for a moment. “You and Alison will turn out perfectly together.”

“Pete!”

“What? Aren’t you two nearly an item?”

“Barely,” I looked away. The more he pestered me about it, the more I seemed to resist any sort of commitment. It was too serious and I didn’t want things to get serious. I was happy with the thrill of the chase. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened, it’s just flirting and stuff,” I told him. “It’s fun and I like it that way. The idea of being official kind of freaks me out.”

Pete nodded. “I get it. I think people take things way too seriously at this age.”

“Exactly!” I agreed. We looked at each other in silence for a bit. I was trying to think of something to say and Pete narrowed his eyes in the way he does when he’s studying me and thinks I can’t tell. “I know Hugh and his goons will end up in prison or deported or something.”

Pete furrowed his eyebrows. He knows I disapprove of them but he’s still loyal. “I give them about five years of freedom after school before they get locked up.”

“You’re so generous.”

Another pause.

“What about the bloke from the party you were talking to?”

“Nothing,” Pete said quickly, then went back to normal. “Nothing yet. I’ve been with you all week, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” I told him, trying to reassure him even though I didn’t know what the problem was. Pete shrugged it off quickly, and then stood up to change the records. I stretched out now that I had the chance. Pete was terrible and took up most of the mattress. 

“What would I look like if I grew a massive beard?” Pete thought aloud. He searched through his knapsack and pulled out a joint and a box of matches.

“Right now? You would look like an infant with a ferret on his face,” I teased.

“No, but like, what about when I’m older and I’m a rugged rock star?” he asked me seriously.

I thought about it for a bit, trying to picture how he might look. “It might balance out your face a bit? Maybe draw some attention away from your nose?”

Pete held the joint between his lips and punched me in the side. “Fuck off.”

I laughed. “Come on, I’ll be there at your side every day anyways, I’ll shave it off in your sleep if it looks that bad.”

Pete gave me a tender look. “Are you saying you’ll be my loyal, slutty groupie when I’m big and famous?”

“What? No! I’m going to play guitar and sing in a band and you’ll just be in the background playing a supporting instrument, wishing you were me.”

“’Slutty groupie John misbehaves during a gig and gets punished’,” Pete announced. “I can see it already.”

“You wish!” I took the unlit joint from his lips and held it in my mouth. “Gimme a light.”

“You’re awfully bossy for my most loyal fan,” Pete struck a match and leaned in, lighting the tip of the joint. He watched me closely as I took in as much smoke as I could. I held it in for a few seconds like he told me, and blew it out slowly with more coughing. I handed it back over to Pete.

“I think I’ll try for a nice, manly mustache,” I pondered, leaning back against the pillows. I noticed Pete kept looking, especially where my shirt rose up and showed a bit of my belly.

“You’ll have to see what the style is like in a few years,” Pete noted, blowing out smoke with a long sigh. “It would be my civic duty to make sure you’re as fashionable as possible.”

I took the joint and another drag, feeling something already once I exhaled. “Ah yes, a fashionable mustache. A fashion ‘stache, if you will.”

“You’ll thank me for it one day,” Pete grabbed the joint and took a pull. “And when they’re taking all those crazy promotional photos of you on a worldwide tour, you’ll owe all your handsomeness to my expertise.”

He handed the joint back to me. After my next drag I felt a good kind of dizzy. “You’ll be right there with me the whole time, luckily.”

Pete lay down next to me and finished the joint before extinguishing it on my headboard again. “I sure hope so.”

God, being high felt so good. I enjoyed the familiar rolls of relief pass through me, and stretched again with a sigh. I rolled up next to Pete again, and he wrapped his arm around me to bring me closer like yesterday. Time passed by slowly, but in a good way for once. The record looped and went on and on drowsily, and I felt like I was melting into Pete. With my head on his chest, I could feel his ribcage and his collarbones and even hear his heartbeat brag on lazily. I reached out and put a hand on his stomach, moving around to feel the dip of the drop off of his ribs, and where his hip bones poked out under his pale skin. I became aware of Pete’s hand on me, and the way he slowly rubbed my shoulder blades and upper back felt so good. I felt his other arm, tracing my fingers along his pointy wristbone, and down his long hand and five thin calloused fingers. I traced my way back up his thin forearm, and then thicker bicep, and up along his shoulder to connect to his collarbones. He shivered under my touch.

I moved my head off his chest so I could properly look at Pete. He watched me carefully. I traced from one collarbone to the other, then down his other arm. I went back to his chest and traced the bones I could feel under his t-shirt. 

I eventually lay back on my side facing Pete, and I swear he didn’t take his eyes off me the whole time. I felt my way down his side and around to his lower back. Pete’s hand landed hot and heavy on the outside of my thigh, and up to my hip, and around my stomach. I felt along Pete’s skinny, feminine hips, and I swallowed quickly. My hand travelled down to his legs, which were warm under his thin pyjamas.

We moved in closer to each other and got a bit bolder. I felt really damn good. I had an idea of where this was heading, and it seemed that my lazy drugged out brain didn’t care to think of anything except for Pete’s hands on me. He surprised me by slipping a hand under my shirt, feeling my belly. I wanted to move in even closer, and I tangled our legs together. I clutched at his hipbone. I moved my face in up to his so our noses brushed against each other. Pete tilted his head and closed the space between us with a kiss.

The kiss was even better than the sloppy drunken one he gave me all those nights ago, and I felt a thrill. His mouth was warm and not too wet, not too dry. He kissed slowly and I kissed deeply, wanting to enjoy every moment. I moved my hand down the side of his hip to his thigh. Pete moved his hand up further under my shirt to my chest, grazing a nipple. I felt a familiar spark ignite inside that I hadn’t expected to feel from Pete’s touch, but it was there and very real. I wrapped my arm around Pete’s tiny, tiny waist and pulled him against me. I thought about Heather the schoolgirl getting punished. I thought of the handsome American man. I thought of those two friends on the beach in their bikinis, holding each other close. I thought of—

I reluctantly broke the kiss. “Pete. Put the lipstick on.”

Pete looked at me for a few seconds with a sort of hopeful look on his face. He pulled away from my arms to dig around for the small tube of red lipstick in his knapsack. He fumbled with it nervously, and I was far too impatient. I took it from him, taking off the lid and rolling it up. I held Pete’s face and carefully spread the waxy red all over his lips. It was sexier than any cheap porn magazine ever could be. The cap was put on quickly and the tube was tossed carelessly to the side. I grabbed Pete’s hips and pulled him on top of me, kissing him again roughly. My legs spread instinctively and he cozied right in. There was a sense of urgency now, and thinking about the lipstick on him was twice as exciting and scandalous now. 

I grabbed at Pete’s hair, which was long enough to get a nice fistful of. I moved my hands down the front of his chest where breasts could have been. I pulled those narrow, girly hips against mine. I was surprised to feel his hard cock against mine through our pyjamas, a sensation I never expected to experience. But there were fireworks going off in my brain and I couldn’t think of much else at the moment.

I moaned his name over and over again. Pete kissed down my jaw and neck which made me even more turned on. I could feel the waxy lipstick marks on my skin. His sighs were soft and feminine sounding. I couldn't comprehend it at all but I definitely loved it. I tried to catch my breath between kisses. “Pete, you’re such a pretty girl…”

“I’m your girl,” he moaned in my ear, rewarding me with a love bite on the side of my neck. 

My breath caught in my throat. “You’re mine, you're mine...”

Pete slowly rolled his hips against me, both of our cocks grinding against each other. The warm friction between two pairs of pyjamas and two pairs of boxers made me dizzy. I wrapped my arms tightly around Pete’s waist, trying to get as much of that delightful friction as possible now that my senses were heightened. 

Pete started rocking against me, keeping a slow, teasing pace. I grabbed his face and kissed him roughly again, begging for more speed. My mind swirled with thoughts of Pete in the lipstick, and how his skinny narrow shoulders and hips made him look girlish. I imagined what Pete would look like in a little bra stretched against his flat chest. Or better yet, a short little skirt pulling tightly across those small hips of his, or how he would look bent over in that skirt over my desk…

Something more primal took over in my head. I grabbed Pete and moved my hips faster under him, the feeling making both of us groan. I wanted nothing more than to sink myself inside of him and fuck him roughly until he was crying and begging. I couldn’t think of any way to fuck him like that unless he had all the necessary girl parts, which made me more frustrated. I think Pete felt something like that too. He pinned me down and was rutting erratically against me. His hot breath in my ear, the quick coiling tension in my belly and the thrill of the first time wound me right up. I tipped over the edge too fast and with a surprised cry, my hips jerked and I came suddenly, right in my pyjama pants.

The waves of pleasure were still rolling through me as I watched Pete slip a hand down his trousers. A few extra strokes brought him over the edge with me, moaning loudly, and he rolled over with a sigh. 

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

I felt the stickiness in my trousers get cold and start to dry up, which suddenly repulsed me. I looked over at Pete next to me, with the lipstick smeared around his mouth, which stopped being sexy and looked gross. Panic suddenly set in. My head was spinning for a couple different reasons, and the weed wasn’t helping. All the hot blood in my body started pumping ice cold, and I felt very anxious.

I got out of the bed quickly and sought refuge in the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw my hair sticking up everywhere, my face blotchy, and red lipstick kisses smeared over my mouth and neck. My stomach sank with guilt and shame. That was a terrible thing I let happen. I just had sex with bloke. And not just any bloke, but my best friend. My best friend who I got off imagining he was a girl. Fuck, Pete had makeup on and called himself a girl, that was messed up. 

I felt sick and anxious and guilty all over. I found a washcloth and scrubbed my face clean with cold water until the lipstick came off. I cleaned myself under my trousers. It was gross. Did I lose my virginity just then? Should I have been that careless with it? What would Alison think if I told her I wasn’t a virgin?

Fuck, I should have been doing this with Alison. Alison should have been here this weekend and I would have fucked her instead and it would have been right, because sex like that was supposed to be between a boy and a girl. 

What would my mother think if she found me and Pete like that? 

I slowly re-emerged from the bathroom and back to my room, feeling lightheaded. I saw Pete stretched out across my bed smoking a cigarette, and I felt angry at him for smoking in my room and taking up my bed and for making me feel good like that when he knew this was wrong.

He should have known it was wrong. 

Wouldn’t he have known it was wrong?

It’s not like we were—

“We shouldn’t have done that,” my voice sounded small and shaky. I felt ill. 

Pete gave me a funny look. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you were saving it for marriage.”

I shook my head. I was sick of him joking around all the time, and I was sick of seeing him on my bed and in my house. “Pete, that was…wrong. That’s what fags do.”

At the drop of the f-word, I saw Pete’s face turn to something cold and stony. I felt guilty about that too now, but I was more angry at him than I was guilty. I let my words hang over his head. He needed to apologize. He was wrong, he shouldn’t be like this. It wasn’t right.

“What, and I suppose you’re going to tell me I’m not natural, and the Bible says this is wrong?” Pete spoke slowly, seething. He didn’t move a muscle.

I kept shaking my head, in disbelief with the whole situation. “It’s fucking illegal, Pete. What if my mother found out? Fuck, what if your mother found out?”

Something flashed across Pete’s face that told me his mother already knew, and a lot of dots connected themselves too late.

Pete stubbed his cigarette out on my headboard. He slid out of my bed and snatched up his knapsack, guitar, and amp. He stuffed his feet in his shoes without any socks and headed for the door.

I felt really sick, because I suddenly didn’t want him to leave after all, and I didn’t want him to be upset with me and leave me here alone. “Pete, wait.”

He turned back around only once. “Fuck you. You’re a hypocrite and you disgust me.”

“Pete—“ I tried again but he was storming down the stairs and out my front door, even as I kept calling out for him. I slammed the front door quickly so none of the neighbours would guess what was going on. I felt my stomach wind up so tightly I felt like I was going to be sick. I sat on the floor of the bathroom just in case I was.

Eventually I drew a hot bath and scrubbed myself clean in the scalding water, hoping I could erase what happened. I had liked it, hadn’t I? I wanted it, hadn’t I? I had been dreaming of being touched like this by Pete, hadn't I?

I went back up to my room and cleaned every inch of it, changing the bedsheets and fanning the lingering smoke out of the air. I picked up the red lipstick and stuffed it in my pocket, vowing to get rid of it somewhere where it couldn’t be traced back to me. I wanted it. So why did I get cold feet so suddenly? I looked down the hall to my mother’s bedroom. I had betrayed her trust and done something horrible when she was gone. I looked at my grandparent’s pictures on the wall, and instead of feeling love for them I felt shame for disappointing them. Pete was a fag this whole time and I let him take over. I let him brainwash me. He probably was just pretending to be my friend when really he wanted to do disgusting things with me, and I let him. It was my fault as much as his. 

It was like everyone kept saying on the news and across the dinner table. Fags were ruining things for everyone. Fags are everywhere and you can’t trust them. The guilty anxiety kept bubbling up in me, and I obsessively cleaned the kitchen and living room until there was no sign that Pete had been here and maybe I could forget about it, but my thoughts kept betraying me. The sexiness, the pleasure, then the crushing guilt. It was all going in a loop through my head. 

I went to the phone and I rang Alison’s house. Her father answered.

“This is the Wise household,” his gruff voice made me nervous.

“Um, hello Mr. Wise. It’s John Entwistle calling, can I speak to Alison please?”

“John? Are you feeling okay?” I realized I couldn’t catch my breath.

“Yeah, I’m fine, no problem.”

“Alright. Give me one moment, please.”

I could hear Mr. Wise place the phone on the table, and he called for Alison. Eventually I heard her pound down the stairs and pick up the phone. 

“John?” Oh, sweet relief. A real girl and a real vagina. 

“Hey, Alison. I, erm, was wondering if you’d like to come over? I’ve got the house to myself. You could tell your parents we’re doing homework.”

“You’re alone?” she whispered, then there was a pause. “Yeah, sure thing. I’ll leave in a few minutes.” Then louder, she said, “Thanks for offering to help me, I really am struggling with this science project.”

We said our goodbyes quickly and hung up. I felt the lipstick poking at me in my pocket, taunting me. I didn’t have to suffer any longer. I was going to make things right.

I waited by the window for an eternity until I saw Alison walk down the sidewalk and cross over to my house. I greeted her at the door and smiled really big. “Alison! Come in. Would you like some tea?”

Alison furrowed her eyebrows as she stepped inside shyly. I remembered at one point the eyebrow thing she did was really cute, but it just reminded me of the analytical way Pete looked at me. “John? Are you…alright?”

“Mostly,” I said, taking her coat and purse. I boiled the kettle anyway, but we ended up forgetting about it. I lead her over to my couch and we sat on either end, facing each other. It was the first time we properly spent time together without schoolwork or alcohol in the middle. I had nothing to say.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alison looked genuinely concerned, and I wanted to tell her everything without telling her the disgusting parts. 

“Erm,” I scratched the back of my head. I wanted Alison to be my girlfriend and eventually my wife. I wanted to start being honest with her like a good husband would. “I had a bit of a falling out with a friend and I feel weird about it.”

“Oh, damn,” Alison frowned. “I’m so sorry to hear that, John. Was it with you and P—“

“You don’t know him, he doesn’t go to this school.” I said quickly, then reprimanded myself for lying over something stupid. Alison knew Pete and would be curious when we stopped spending time together at school. I don’t know why I protected Pete as if we were going to forgive each other. I was only going to focus on Alison and my guitar from now on.

“That must be really hard. I hope things work out between you two. Friendships are really important,” Alison said gently, putting her hand over mine. Why was it when Pete did that, I let him do all those sexual things with me? Why do I melt whenever someone shows me affection? 

I nodded, planning what I wanted to do to Alison later and get back on the right track, with proper boy-girl stuff. “Thank you, Alison. But I would genuinely like to spend time with you and get to know you.”

Alison blushed, and it made the apples of her cheeks elegantly rosy. Pete looked terrible when he blushed. “I didn’t know this was going to be a date,” she teased me.

“It could be, if you wanted,” I felt like I was shaking all over. “I’ll even make you dinner.”

Alison looked at me very lovingly, and I wanted to speed things up a little. I thought about the lipstick in my pocket. 

“Oh, John,” she said softly.

“I got you a gift,” I told her, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the tube of Pete’s red lipstick. “I saw it at the store the other day. I kept thinking how pretty you looked at the party and I thought the, er, colour would look lovely on you.”

“John! You’re making me blush like mad,” she giggled, a wide smile spreading across her face. She took the lipstick from me and didn’t seem to notice it was already opened and slightly used. Alison stood up and went to the mirror in the hallway to put it on carefully. I watched her, and took into account her long slim legs, small breasts, hips that gently curved, and a skirt that came just above her knees. She was a proper woman, like in my magazine. Women like her were made for men like me.

Alison turned around. “What do you think? It’s not too dark, is it?”

I swallowed quickly. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“Oh, stop,” she giggled. She joined me again on the couch. “Thank you, John. You’re being so kind to me lately. I’d almost say you had a crush on me or something.”

“Aren’t you wise?” I teased, and she laughed even though she must have gotten that joke a hundred times before. I moved in to brush the hair away from her face gently, and stroke the side of her face. I moved a thumb down her jaw and skimmed it across her bottom lip. 

I watched as her eyelashes fluttered closed, and she moved in with slightly parted lips. I met her halfway, and we properly kissed this time. She was very shy and hesitantly moved her lips, but I tried to coax her until she relaxed a bit more. We kissed long and slow. I combed my fingers through her hair, and felt her shoulders and collarbones, and down her sides to her hips until she giggled and said I was tickling her. She wasn't as warm as Pete. I went back to being slow and loving, waiting patiently for something more. She kept sucking at my face with the same slow rhythm for what felt like hours. My jaw was aching and I was bored to tears and eventually she pulled away, blushing and bright eyed.

“John, that was great,” she beamed. 

“I thought so too.” I forced myself to smile.

“Are you sure you haven’t ever done that before?” she asked incredulously.

“Nope, never before,” I gave her a reassuring smile. I hated myself for lying so easily. 

“Gosh,” she smiled. “I did tell my dad I’d be home by nine. I should head out soon.”

“Damn,” I didn’t want her to leave because I didn’t want to be alone.

I stood beside her at the sink as she washed off the makeup so her father wouldn’t see, but slipped the lipstick in her purse for next time. I washed my mouth off too where the lipstick smeared. She shyly kissed me at the door before leaving.

“I guess I’ll see you on Monday?” she smiled, this time the smile meaning something more.

“Of course, darling,” I kissed her one last time and then she left and I waved until she was out of sight and closed the door again.

I felt like shit, but now I felt empty and shitty. I slept on the couch and left the telly all night to fill the silence. I was wondering how Pete got home and if he got to change clothes and wash off the lipstick before his mother saw him. But then again, if he got caught, he should be punished for doing such terrible things, just like the partying and the drugs. I decided I didn’t care if Pete got in trouble or kicked out again. 

Now, I was left to my own devices to wait one more day. I wouldn’t be able to rest until my family came home safe and sound and didn’t notice anything suspicious. In the meantime, I would have to sit alone with guilty thoughts swirling through my head punctuating by the strict ticking of the grandfather clock.


	4. fluorescent adolescent(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clinging to not getting sentimental / the best you ever had is just a memory

My family came back home safe and sound on Sunday night, right on time as my mother planned. I had nothing to do while I was waiting for them, so I made spaghetti that would be ready for when they got back. I had finished all my homework and even got ahead for the next week to occupy myself that day, and I got paranoid again so I washed the sheets and the pyjama pants I used on that horrid Saturday night. Still, I waited anxiously for my mother to find some suspicious clue about what I had done.

When my family got home, I helped bring in their bags from the car and let my grandfather hold my arm so he could walk up the porch steps, now with a cane. It was a grim reminder at how old he was getting, which made me even more worried. I should have just spent all weekend praying for his health instead of doing nasty things with another boy.

My mother was exhausted from driving, and she was really pleased to find I had cooked for everyone. She gave me a long hug, and I stayed stiff in case she could still smell Pete on me, even though I had bathed half a dozen times since then. She gave me a big kiss on the cheek and said, “Let’s eat, eh? I’m absolutely starving.”

My grandmother served everyone and we all sat around the table, and finally my mother clued in on the extra empty chair. “Wait, where’s Pete?”

“He got sick on Saturday and went home to rest,” I said before stuffing my mouth with more noodles so I didn’t have to talk more.

“Poor lad, I hope he feels better,” my grandfather said.

“So were you all alone today?” my mother asked, looking worried.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a big deal. I kept myself busy,” I shrugged. By busy, I meant I had nearly made myself sick with guilt. I wished we would never have to mention Pete again.

My family went on to describe their hectic weekend, like taking the wrong route and almost being late for their appointment, and the mix up with the papers in the hospital. My grandmother always had to complain about incompetent staff, and my grandfather reassured me that he was actually very well taken care of the whole time. Then my mother went on to sing praises about what a good friend Joanne had been, letting my grandfather rest as long as he needed in her posh London flat just a block away from the hospital. I felt a weird ache at the realization that I had surely lost my best friend, and I’d have to start all over again.

My mother had noticed I was a different kind of quiet than usual, and when we were washing the dishes together she asked casually, “So, did you and Pete have a nice weekend…?”

I swallowed quickly, feeling even guiltier. I could just tell her we’d had a falling out and we would never mention him again, but I didn’t want to think about anything that happened yesterday ever again. “It was okay. I spent some time with Alison Wise, though. She’s a lot of fun.”

“I see,” my mother gave me a sly look, understanding where I was changing the topic. “You should invite her over for dinner one night. It’s been a few years since I last saw her.”

“Yeah, she dropped out of the school orchestra to focus on English and science,” I told her. “So you haven’t seen her at the school concerts in a while.”

I felt better now that my mother was back home to comfort me, and I let myself relax since she hadn’t been able to read my mind and find out what I was guilty about. Otherwise she’s surely skin me alive. 

After dinner, I made everyone tea, and I sat next to my mum on the couch while we watched telly. I sat right next to her so our shoulders brushed and I could smell her perfume faintly, and I didn’t feel so lonely like I was earlier.

I wasn’t looking forward to going to bed that night, but my mother sent me up anyways because I had school the next morning. I lay in bed alone, under the covers of my cold, dark room. I didn’t have anyone to turn to and chat with, and I felt worried again. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured Pete. Pete smoking, and Pete cooking, and his terrible slouch as he bent over his guitar and tried to get the chords right. All the feelings of affection that usually bubbled up now turned rotten with guilt. Guilt that I had let myself do those things with him, and guilt that I enjoyed it. But that was then. I had made a mistake long ago, and now I had to work on redeeming myself. I wasn’t a fag, not like him.

I stayed up reading to distract my thoughts, until I saw the sun threaten to come up from under the horizon. I put my book aside and turned off my lamp, trying to grab the last few hours of sleep I could before my mother woke me up for school. When she did, I felt terrible and achy and tired. I was grumpy all morning and made my breakfast on autopilot. Out of habit I made two sandwiches for lunch, but I had no one to share my food with anymore, so I wrapped the sandwich and left it in the fridge for tomorrow. My grandfather, who had slept on the couch so he didn’t have to go up the stairs, tried to chat with me but I wasn’t in the mood. I left for school as late as possible, dreading going back to the times where I had no one to talk to.

Part of me wondered if Pete would confront me today and apologize, but I didn’t see him all morning. I looked around the hallways trying to find Alison, but it occurred to me that I didn’t even know where her locker was. The bell rang and I gave up and went to homeroom. 

I didn’t see Alison until lunch back at the library, and she behaved more flirtatious towards me and kept brushing her foot against mine under the table. She asked Thomas to go refill her water bottle for her so we could have some time alone. We awkwardly flirted in hushed voices so we wouldn’t disrupt the people studying around us. I invited her over for dinner, but she had a club meeting to go to that afternoon. Thomas came back and we went back to studying.

Pete wasn’t in any of our afternoon classes, and neither were Hugh and the goons. They were all low-lives anyways. I wouldn’t do drugs like them ever again, either.

I walked home alone, but took a different route so I wouldn’t potentially run into Pete. I got home, talked to my family, did homework, went to bed, and woke up and did it all over again.

On Tuesday, I spent all my time between classes with Alison but we only had school things to talk about. I saw Pete and that boy from the party—whose name I later discovered was Aaron—standing quite close to each other at Aaron’s locker. While Alison talked to me, I looked over her shoulder and watched across the hallway as Pete cocked his head with a lazy smile, talking and said something to make Aaron laugh. I felt sick. Now that I knew about Pete’s disgusting lifestyle, I forced myself to feel relieved that he wasn’t manipulating me anymore and now moved on to Aaron. There wasn’t even anything special about Aaron, even if he did have green eyes and hair bleached blond from time spent working in the sun.

“John? Are you there?” Alison asked, then looked behind her quickly to see what I was staring at.

“I’m sorry, love, I just got distracted. What were you saying about your sister?”

The bell rang later, and I even kissed Alison on the cheek before we went our separate ways for class. I bet everyone saw, including Pete.

I walked home alone because Alison got a drive from her father. My mother made a casserole for dinner. We watched the news before bed.

On Wednesday, Pete and Aaron were practically glued to each other’s sides. I watched Hugh tease them every time he and the goons walked by, calling them rude names. Pete always made a joke of it and everyone laughed it off. 

Alison started sitting beside me at the table in the library, instead of across from me. Her hand sometimes brushed my leg under the table.

My mother made soup for dinner that night. We watched the news and I went to bed early.

On Thursday, Hugh started telling everyone Pete was a fag. Before homeroom, everyone was whispering that heavy f-word. Pete and Aaron weren’t even at school yet to defend themselves. I hoped when Pete found out, that he didn’t think it was me who started that rumour against him. Even worse, I prayed that even though everyone knew we were—or, had been—best friends, that they wouldn’t link him and me together as filthy fags. I started holding hands with Alison in the hallways between classes just in case.

“Did you know about Pete this whole time?” Stupid fucking Thomas asked the second I sat down with them at the library. 

“He’s just being rebellious. He’ll realize he’s in the wrong soon enough,” I said diplomatically, opening my textbook.

Alison looked at me, worried. “Oh, yes. He just wants attention, probably. No one is actually queer like that, it’s something you make up for attention. That’s what my dad told me.”

I didn’t feel like eating after that.

My mother reheated the leftover casserole for dinner that night. I lost interest in my homework. We watched the news and then I went to bed early. I dreamt about Pete that night.

On Friday, I saw Pete and Aaron sharing a cigarette outside the front doors. They were huddled in close, lost in their own world. I walked right past them and didn’t even look. 

Alison wore the red lipstick for me that day, and I gave her lots of compliments until she blushed. I invited her over for dinner again and she agreed to come. When we walked back to our lockers after lunch, I saw Pete and Aaron sitting together by Aaron’s locker in the otherwise empty hallway. Pete had a hand on Aaron’s knee, and they were murmuring to each other, dropping their voices to a hushed whisper now that we had arrived across the hall. I pretended not to notice they existed, and Alison eyed me carefully, trying to read my expression.

Alison kept talking about makeup or clothes or some girly shit when I sensed a commotion from the corner of my eye. I kept my eyes locked on Alison but from my peripheral vision I saw Pete quickly remove his hand from Aaron’s knee. A few seconds later, a teacher had approached them from down the hall after seeing everything and was quietly scolding the two, sending them to the principal’s office. I felt the thrill of triumph knowing that they were getting in trouble. Now Pete wouldn’t be able to see Aaron anymore!

Alison and I walked home holding hands that afternoon, but we stopped right before we got to my street so no one would see. When we got in, my grandmother had just finished preparing a lasagna for our nice dinner with Alison. Alison and I then helped my grandfather to the car which my mother left behind, as she took the bus to work that day. My grandmother drove him to his appointment, and Alison and I were home alone for a little over an hour until my mother came back home.

Alison was getting bolder lately, and I must have caught her in a good mood. She re-applied her lipstick and we went to sit on the couch together, and she leaned in to kiss me right away. We were grabbing each other and kissing hot and heavy, and for once I was really getting into it. I felt all my other thoughts switch off and I could finally just focus on Alison. I sat back and pulled her onto my lap, and she sat comfortably, straddling my hips. My hands trailed over her thighs where her knee high socks stopped and the patch of smooth skin before her skirt began. I felt over her skirt, up her legs and around her thin, feminine hips. I touched her curvy middle and she didn’t giggle this time. I decided to slip my hands under her sweater and touch the soft skin there, which made her breath hitch in a really sexy way.

“You’re my girl,” I told her, my voice turning surprisingly gruff. 

“And you’re my boy,” she responded with a soft sigh. I was taken aback at how loving it sounded. I didn’t want something loving, I wanted something dirty. She was supposed to say she belonged to me.

I went back to kissing her. I slid my hands up further and grabbed her breasts through her soft cotton bra, and she moaned into my mouth. The sound was beautiful, and she felt great. I thought about her in a short skirt, and I thought of bending her over the table where my family would be innocently eating in a few hours. I felt the familiar spark and I wanted to fuck her. I started rocking my hips under hers, but she thought I was wiggling to get comfier and it didn’t really work. 

I broke off to kiss down her neck and it was sort of nice, but we heard the sound of the bus braking down our street. We stopped, and sure enough, my we saw my mother walking home through the curtains. Alison climbed off of me, and I crossed the room to turn on the telly and wipe the lipstick off my face with the hem of my t-shirt. 

My mother opened the door with a tired sigh. “Hello, John, and—oh, Alison! It’s so nice to see you again. I’m glad you could join us tonight.”

Alison smiled, already having caught her breath and smoothed down her skirt. “Hello, Mrs. Entwistle! Thank you for having me for dinner.”

Alison followed my mother into the kitchen to check on the lasagna that my grandmother left in the oven. The two were talking adamantly about Alison’s school accomplishments, and how her family was doing. I waited around in the doorway, just listening. I was secretly jealous that the two of them were more interested in each other than they were in me.

Dinner went over smoothly once my grandparents got home from the doctors. Everyone loved Alison, and she was charming and polite. She talked about politics with my grandfather like Pete did, except she was very eloquent and patient and democratic about everything, and it wasn’t funny like usual. She and my grandmother talked about the lasagna recipe, and she and my mother talked about books. She even helped my mother wash the dishes like a perfect child, and she stole all my mother’s attention. I tried to keep a straight face and not scowl as I was stuck drying the dishes and putting them away, which was the most boring part.

I sat next to my mum and Alison on the couch and we watched the news very quietly. Alison was on her best behaviour and sat a respectable distance away from me. Every damn night of the news was the same, and hearing about gross fags getting locked in jail because of the French amendment got less triumphant and more boring. I wished we could just leave the fags and prostitutes and alcoholics alone and go talk about something new for once.

At 9 pm on the dot, Alison’s father pulled up in the driveway to pick her up. He didn’t even come to the door. Alison put on her coat and said goodnight to everyone. I couldn’t even kiss her goodnight because my whole family was in the other room and I’m sure my mother could see us from where she was sitting, and her father could see us in front of the door. I patted her on the shoulder awkwardly.

“I had fun tonight, John. You’re always welcome to come over to ours for dinner some time, if you’d like.” She gave me a pretty smile.

“Of course, I’d love that,” I said back and forced a big smile back. She left and I waved to her one last time as she and her dad pulled out of the driveway. My family kept singing praises about Alison and I agreed with them, then said I was exhausted and went to bed.

After washing up, I lay on top of the covers, feeling grumpy and frustrated and not knowing why. I looked around for something to occupy myself with. I hadn’t touched my guitar all week. I couldn’t focus on any book. My secret magazine was out of the question. I still didn’t feel right looking at it or letting those thoughts roll around my head. I wished that I could properly smoke and get high again to completely relax. I hadn’t felt so worked up in a long time. 

That weekend dragged on. Every time someone left the house to run errands or pick up medicine for my grandfather, I begged to come along too. I needed to get out of the house and distract myself, but I just felt anxious that I would run into Pete or Aaron.

On Monday, I felt upset with myself for not finishing all the school work I was supposed to have done. I scrambled to finish it before the bell and felt even worse that it wasn’t my best work and my grade would be brought down. Alison kept telling me how nice my family was and I tried to be patient but I wasn’t feeling that well today and wanted to be alone. I soldiered through things anyways and tried to be as nice as I could to Alison. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

On my way out the back doors at the end of the day, I interrupted Pete and Aaron kissing privately by the doors where no one would see them. I didn’t acknowledge their existences in the slightest and I walked home as casually as I could, even though I wanted to be sick.

My mother made a roast that night for dinner that I barely ate. I knew I would be having roast sandwiches and leftovers all week. I went to bed before the news came on.

On Tuesday, I tried to convince my mother that I was ill and couldn’t go to school, but she didn’t feel a fever and told me I was just being lazy. When I got to school later, I saw Pete and Hugh and the goons in their usual parking space beside the school, but they seemed to be taunting Pete. I paused outside the door, hiding around the corner and eavesdropping. 

“Nah, you’re cut off, mate,” Hugh declared. “I told you before and I won’t tell you again.”

“Yeah, he already told you,” one of the goons echoed. “Either stop being a disgustin’ fag, or piss off.”

“I just want cigarettes, you know that,” Pete tried to tell them. “I’m literally offering money. I have money to buy them now, I don’t even want free handouts like usual.”

“Like usual? There is no usual anymore,” another goon said. I heard a bit of a scuffle. “There’s no more routine. We don’t want you anymore.”

I swallowed quickly. There certainly was no more regular routine to fall back on. Not a fun one, anyways. I heard them start to hit each other and I ducked inside the building before Pete would eventually flee indoors. I felt that instinctive worry for him, but I convinced myself not to care anymore. 

At lunch, Thomas told me that Alison was mad at me for not asking why she was upset, and that she wasn’t going to eat lunch with us that day as a punishment. I felt shitty about that, too. My mind seemed miles off and I forced myself to feel guilty for upsetting Alison like that, because I was nearly positive it was my fault. 

Pete wasn’t in our afternoon classes, but Hugh and his goons were. 

I found Alison after school and offered to walk her home. I apologized a hundred times for being a shitty boyfriend-but-not-really-boyfriend. She got quiet and asked if I was interested in going steady. I stopped at the intersection by her street where we’d have to go our separate ways, and I kissed her quickly and said I’d talk to her tomorrow and then I left, avoiding the question entirely. 

That night, I struggled to focus on my maths homework when the phone rang. I wondered if it was Pete. My mum answered and mouthed, ‘Alison’. I mimed being in the bath, and my mother spoke into the phone. “I’m sorry, Alison, he’s in the bath. Can I pass along a message, love?”

We had leftover roast for dinner. The news talked about fags. I went to bed.

On Wednesday, I ripped a nice looking flower out of our front garden to give to Alison to apologize with. When I gave it to her at her locker, she looked delighted and reached up to kiss me on the cheek. I noticed Aaron standing by himself at his locker, looking for Pete who never came.

In my science class that morning, Pete came in late with a dramatic flourish and sporting a nasty black and blue eye.

“Terribly sorry, Mr. Henry. I was busy getting a black eye. Please excuse my tardy,” he pouted mockingly, then took his seat at the back of the classroom.

“Mr. Townshend! You will speak to me with more respect next time,” our teacher scolded. “This is your last tardy before a punishment. I suggest you re-consider who you hang around with to avoid more trouble.”

A snicker rolled through the class, noticing the double entendre. We were almost positive we knew what Mr. Henry was implying. I thought he was a dick for bringing up something that was clearly Pete’s personal business. Whispers with that f-word passed around when Mr. Henry turned his back again, and Pete just sat tall and proud with a sly smile on his face. I buried my nose in my book to escape it all. 

I walked through the halls at lunch, holding Alison’s hand. She was happy I was giving her more attention and was chatting excitedly. I noticed Hugh without his goons, taunting Pete by his locker. Pete looked uncomfortable as he tried to open his lock and Hugh whispered into Pete’s ear dangerously close. Alison was talking so much I couldn’t get a good sense of what Hugh was saying as we walked past quickly.

The rest of the day passed by as usual, falling back into that new routine that was forming against my will. I was genuinely bored to tears and I didn’t see any way that things would change any time soon. My brain was in a negative slump every day, and I couldn’t help but replay the events of that weekend over and over and torture myself with guilt. The cycle always ended with a reminder of the last thing Pete said to me, and that disappointed and disgusted look on his face would forever be imprinted in my head.

I felt uneasy over things with Alison. I felt guilty that my brain wouldn’t shut up, and that I was wasting all these days with her lost in my own thoughts instead of paying attention to someone who actually cared about me. She’s beautiful and smart and kind and yet I’m focused on my ex-best friend and the terrible things we used to do together. Sure, the old stuff me and Pete did was more fun and sexy, but my life now with Alison was right, and it was proper and clean and it’s what I should be doing. 

Even more, I felt uneasy about Pete. That bruise on his eye looked terrible, and there were vicious rumours going around all week which originated from him being a fag, to talk that he sucked other men off for money. I knew that weren’t true, but some people genuinely believed it. His reputation as the opinionated, flamboyant musician was getting tainted and even the teachers wouldn’t stick up for him because he liked other blokes.

“I worry about you, John,” Alison told me that afternoon as we walked back home from school. She wound her arm tighter around mine and I wished I had a cigarette.

“You don’t have to do that,” I told her gently. The way she looked up at me with those worried eyes nearly killed me.

“I know you like being a big macho man, but you’re allowed to talk about your feelings,” she coaxed. “Especially around me, since I’m your…well, you know.”

I pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, of course. I just, erm, need to keep thinking some things over.”

“That’s okay,” Alison smiled. “Maybe we can go out this weekend and do something fun, yeah? You could use a day out. I’ll take you to the movies.”

Alison was too perfect, and I felt shitty about it. I think that was when I realized I didn’t deserve her. “What would I do without you?” I said because I knew it would make her smile.

I got home just before the rain started pouring. 

“It’s been overcast like that all day,” my grandfather said from the couch. We both watched the downpour from out the front window. “One of those rains you know has been building up for days, just to come down all at once.”

I felt like the rain matched my angsty mood. I felt good just curling up in the small armchair, listening to the rain as I read a book and held a warm up of tea. Over the dull chatter on the telly, the rain continued to crash down like the sky was sobbing and sobbing. 

My mother made a stew with leftovers from the roast. During dinner, she praised me for a good test score I had brought home, and I felt good about myself for a little bit. I managed to stay up and watch the depressing news with everyone. We helped my grandfather walk up the stairs now that he was feeling a bit better, and he could sleep properly in his own bed.

Like my newest routine entailed, I lay awake under the covers, looking at my ceiling while I let my guilty thoughts torment me. I drifted in and out of sleep, and even though my whole existence was exhausted, I couldn’t even focus on sleeping. At least I had the rain to listen to.

I had resorted to reading all night. I picked a classic story that I knew inside and out so I could let my mind wander and only somewhat focus on the story. Just around one in the morning, I had the fright of my life. I froze in my bed as I distinctly heard someone open my front door and walk inside the house. Luckily my grandfather was upstairs so he would be safe, but my grandmother and mother were sound asleep as well. I was the only one who knew what was happening, and I would have to do something about it.  
Whoever was inside only stood at the front door and didn’t go any further. I was genuinely terrified that they might have a gun or even come upstairs. My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt anxious all over again. I put my book to the side and slowly slipped out of bed. As quiet as physically possible, I stepped out of my room slowly and down the hall to the stairs, where I peeked around the corner to see who was downstairs. 

I nearly shit myself. In the dark, I saw Pete’s silhouette standing by my front door, peering out the window. 

“Pete!” I whispered down the stairs. Pete jumped, frightened. I tiptoed down the stairs so I wouldn’t wake my family.

He looked guilty, but more than that he looked terrified. “Just let me hide here for a few minutes. I’m being followed.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, instinctively feeling worried for him. It was just like all those nights he came to my house seeking refuge. Apparently some things never change. “Pete, you’re soaking wet. How long were you out in the rain?”

“About half an hour, I had a bit of a run,” he told me, looking back out the window. His voice remained neutral and in no position to be kicked out of the person’s house he was hiding in.

“Pete, you’re going to catch your death,” I tried to take his soaking wet jacket off of him but he hit my hand away, making it clear he didn’t want much to do with me.

“I’m fine.”

“Who’s following you?” I asked gently.

“Hugh,” he told me curtly.

“Pete, come on,” I tried again. “Let me at least run you a bath, or get you some towels.”

“I don’t need your charity just because you feel guilty,” he spat. 

“Pete.”

“Fuck you.” He turned away from me, looking out the window like a paranoid freak. Even though he was trying not to, his teeth were chattering.

“Pete, come on,” I desperately needed to take care of him again, to ease my own aching conscience. 

“You don’t have any power over me anymore,” he seethed quietly.

“Alright, alright,” I didn’t want a fuss, even though he was making me feel shitty. “If you take a bath, I’ll give you the best apology you’ve ever heard in your life.”

Why the sudden change in my attitude? It flowed out without me wanting it to. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was me trying to ease my worried mind and repent. Maybe it was something else. But I just didn’t want to be angry at Pete anymore, especially when he was in danger. At this point I didn’t care who was right or who was wrong.

He stood still, his cold stony face never ceasing to watch the street. Finally, he said quietly, “I’m worried he’ll find me. If I look away…”

I put a reassuring hand on his back. “You’re safe here, Pete. He doesn’t know I live here. He would never guess.” Pete let me take off his jacket. I draped it over the arm chair to dry. “Come upstairs.”

Pete jerked away from my touch and walked up to the bathroom. We were both quiet not to wake anyone. Pete shut the door behind us and I knelt in front of the tub to draw hot water to fill up the tub. That was a loud noise we couldn’t avoid, but I had been acting strangely for days now, surely my mother would understand.

We sat silently, waiting for the bath to fill up. I stopped when it was high enough, and Pete awkwardly walked past me to stand by the tub. He faced me as he undressed, making sure I didn’t look at him. I politely turned away. After he stepped in the bath and sank down, I picked up his clothes and hung them over the curtain rod, pointedly not looking at Pete’s nakedness.

I didn’t want to leave yet, and he didn’t make me. Finally I owned up to my guilt and looked over at Pete. He looked haggard, much thinner than before, and his black eye was aging real nasty.

“Sit down,” Pete ordered. I sat on the carpet next to the bathtub. He stared me down.

I cleared my throat, preparing my apology. I felt like all the guilt was on me for the first time since that weekend. “Pete, I’m…I’m really sorry.”

“Damn right you should be,” he glared. I had never seen Pete look at me with such disgust and I hated it. I wanted things to go back to normal.

I tried some more. “Everything was so confusing and it still is confusing. I don’t understand any of it, but I know I was a proper dick and I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

Pete continued staring me down, his expression never changing. He was naked and small. He should have been the vulnerable one, but it was me.

“I miss you, Pete. I want my friend back.”

He snorted.

“Really, I mean it!” I insisted. “I can’t help worrying about you. I want to go back to normal.”

Pete rolled his eyes, completely unsympathetic. “You can’t just ask for me back now that you’re bored with Alison. It doesn’t work like that.”

I felt like crying. I didn’t even complain, he probably saw how bored I looked with her at school. It wasn’t that I was totally bored, I was just so damn confused and sad.

“You used me,” Pete leaned in real close over the edge of the bathtub. I was scared. “You knew exactly what you were getting into. You know who I am and you took advantage of that, and then blamed me as if I had forced you into it.”

I nodded, my eyes welling up.

“You’re a hypocrite, and a coward,” he told me. “And not to mention manipulative.”

“Pete, I’m sorry,” I whispered desperately. “Please, stop.”

“There’s nothing wrong with how I am,” he whispered back, but almost as if he was trying to convince himself too. “I’ll never be your friend until you accept that.”

I nodded quickly. “I know, Pete. I’m just really sorry. I’m sorry you’re being treated like this and I’m not there to help you through it.”

His expression turned less harsh. 

“I just want you back,” I pleaded, trying to will my tears not to fall like some wimp. “I want to go back to everything we used to do. I liked it so much, I shouldn’t have gotten cold feet. I want you to come back after school and play guitar with me and share my bed and kiss me.”

“No,” he said. “Not like that. Things won’t be happening like that again. Like you said, that’s what fags do.”

I bit my lip. Now what? Agree and tell him I was a fag and that we could be fags together? Or disagree with something I said myself? Either way I’m betraying a part of myself. 

Pete turned away and went under water for a brief moment, letting me breathe. He popped his head back out and wiped the water from his face. 

“Granted,” he said after some thought. “I did rush things.”

I didn’t dare agree with him. I didn’t want him to be any angrier with me.

“I know you feel guilty about it,” he turned and rested his arms on the edge of the tub. He looked a little softer. “That was hardly anything more than mutual masturbation. You don’t need to worry about your virginity, John.”

Hearing him reassure me like that made me feel a lot better. I felt a couple pounds of guilt raise off of my chest. “Okay.”

“Did you…like it?” he asked. Now he let some vulnerability seep through.

“I loved it, Pete,” I whispered back. “I knew it was wrong but I loved it so much and I feel so guilty for liking it.”

"Aaron didn't feel guilty to be with me."

"Pete, please stop."

Pete looked at me for a long time. I swear minutes went by. I missed looking at Pete, and I missed when he tried to analyze every thought of mine. Maybe I wouldn’t have to say anything and he would understand everything I was thinking. After a while, he spoke quietly. “Hugh followed me home tonight after I left Aaron’s house. He had taunted me about being a fag and being with boys and...he tried to get me to…touch him.”

My heart sank. “Oh, god, Pete, tell me he didn’t—“

“Hardly anything happened. I was terrified, but I attacked him and left him bleeding in my own bedroom. My mother wasn’t even home, as usual. I ran out and left him in my house. I ran through the neighbourhood and he chased me. I took a shortcut and ended up on your street. I knew where the spare key was, so I let myself in to hide from him. I didn’t mean to stay more than a few minutes.”

“Fuck, Pete,” I was relieved that he was okay but I still felt shaken up that it had happened. “I’m glad you came here. I’ll take care of you, just like old times. He’ll never lay a finger on you again.”

Pete tilted his head, looking at me. “Yeah. Just like old times.”

The two of us were very still. I needed him to forgive me and free me from this torment inside my head and my heart. 

“Pete…I want you back,” I told him truthfully.

“You have Alison,” he told me right back.

“But I—“

“You have Alison,” he said firmly. “Stay with Alison. She’s good for you. Care for her like she cares for you.”

“Pete,” I was exhausted with emotions. I felt like I was going to cry. “I want you.”

He took my hand in his. “This isn’t me rejecting you. This is me protecting the both of us. Stay away.”

“No, don’t say that.”

“We can’t keep doing this, John.”

I lay my cheek against his hand. “Are you going to see Aaron again?”

Pete sighed. “His father found us. I’m banned from coming near their son or their house ever again.”

I looked up at him, my eyes filled with tears like a giant wimp. “Did you…did you and him do what we did?”

Pete looked at me, full of pity. He let me off easy. “Yes, John.”

I wanted to be sick, but at least I knew. “Do you love him?”

“No, John,” he squeezed my hand. 

I was going to start blubbering like a baby. I didn’t like what I had done. All of this happened because of me. I don’t know why everything between us felt as wrong as much as it did right. My brain told me everything we had felt and done was terrible and it was a sin and a crime, but the rest of my being told me it felt good and it was meant to be this way, me and Pete, together forever. And if the way I felt for Pete on the inside could be expressed on the outside my kissing and touching and fucking, then I decided right then and there that that’s how I wanted to interact with him from now on, no matter what the consequences were that came along with those implications. It wasn’t a girl thing or a boy thing, it was just about Pete and John. 

"Pete, I don't like this," I said softly. "Please, let's just go back to before all of this shit. I want to make you lunches again. I want you back, I want you."

"John, it'll be okay. You'll be okay."

"Yeah, but what about you?" I asked. 

"Don't worry about me," Pete said quietly. "I just got my best friend back. I'm better than ever."

I wiped some traitorous tears away from my eyes quickly, biting my tongue hard to prevent any more emotion from spilling out. Slowly, and very gently, Pete leaned over the edge of the bathtub and held my face. He tilted his head and kissed me deeply because it was what was right, and my heart betrayed me and skipped a beat, and I desperately grabbed at the warm, damp skin of his back because I wouldn’t be fucking stupid enough to let him get away again. I kissed him with all the apologies I had been bottling up and he kissed me back with all the forgiveness I needed, and I decided that’s exactly why I love him.

//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> frick
> 
> i hope you guys liked this fic, pls give me praise in the comments, love u all


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